


Middlemen

by youvebeenlivingfictional



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: AU where Carrillo isn’t marrried, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Slow Burn, Yearning with a dash of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27436489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youvebeenlivingfictional/pseuds/youvebeenlivingfictional
Summary: When you’d thought about the Horacio Carrillo that you used to know, you had an image of a young boy - talkative, smiling, open. The man in front of you now was imposing, quiet, sharp.
Relationships: Horacio Carrillo/Reader, Horacio Carrillo/You
Comments: 41
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Carrillo isn’t married; the story is set in/around Season 1
> 
> I have fallen deep into this Horacio Carrillo hole and only that man’s strong arms could lift me out.
> 
> *Disculpame - I’m sorry  
> **Claro - Alright/Ok  
> ***Sopresa - Surprise  
> ****Ayúdame - Help me  
> *****Pinche gringo - Fucking gringo

"You remember, don’t you, _Horacito_?”

“Hm?”

He hadn’t been listening – he’d been watching his nephew, Matías, play football with a few other kids on the street.

“Horacio.”

His sister’s tone drew his attention and he turned to look at her.

“ _*Discúlpame_ , Karina,” He sat up straighter, turning to look at her where she was watching him from the stove, “What did you say?”

“You remember the gringo family that used to come and visit during the summers? They had two sons and a daughter?”

He remembered. He remembered playing cops and robbers with the boys, the girl trailing behind, grumbling and bored with being the hostage that her brothers had ordered her to be for the sake of the game.

Horacio gave his sister a nod.

“The girl’s come back for work for a news station – at _Cadena Uno. Mamá_ promised her mother we’d keep an eye out for her if she needs anything.”

“ _**Claro_.”

“She’ll be by for dinner on Sunday. Will you come?”

Horacio gave Karina a look that, if she were not his sister, would border on stern.

“Will you try?” Karina amended. He gave a small nod, then turned his eyes back to his nephew.

\--

When you started working at the news station back home, you hadn’t thought it would take you away from home. But as the drug war in Colombia had become part of the national news in the States, your job wanted to get stories directly from the source. It joined forces with a local station in Colombia, asked for volunteers in your office – field reporters, researchers, bookers, producers. When you'd first applied to the station, you’d put on your resume that you spoke some Spanish; because of this, your name came up.

Your mother had reached out to the Carrillo family as soon as you’d found out that you’d be relocating; you didn’t think that you would’ve made it a point to make contact, since you hadn’t been to Colombia or seen the Carrillos since you were thirteen years old. That was nearly fifteen years ago. Now you were moving to a new job with a team you were barely acquainted with, in a country that you didn’t know anymore. A country that was going through hell, that was being gripped by its roots and torn from the ground up.

When Karina Carrillo had invited you to dinner, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. You had liked the elder Carrillo sibling when you were growing up; when the boys had become irritating, you’d practically plastered yourself to her side. Besides, you’d been in Medellín for three weeks when she’d asked, and you were already missing home cooked meals. Your mom had already told you what to bring (you were told to make the empanadas that she had taught you how to make – “And bring orchids—And for godssake, don’t ride over on that motorbike of yours.”).

Fidelia Carrillo, the Carrillo family matriarch, did her best not to look horrified when you turned up on your motorbike. She got over it fairly quickly when you pulled off your helmet and hurried you into the house, plucking the orchids out of your hands and ordering her grandson to take them inside. She took the empanadas next, opened the container and took a whiff, and cooed, “Just like your mother makes them!”

You would be lying if you said you didn’t flush with pride.

“This cannot be _patito_ ,” You heard Karina coo, and you were suddenly flushing for an entirely different reason. You’d forgotten that the Carrillo siblings used to call you _duckling_.

“ _***Sopresa_ ,” You laughed.

“My god, you’re so grown!” Karina reached out, ruffling your hair. You wrinkled your nose, and Karina laughed.

“Oh, this is _patito_ , alright,” She said, tweaking your nose.

“Sit, sit,” She added, waving you toward a chair.

“Can’t I help?” You asked, looking around the kitchen. Fidelia put you to work peeling potatoes. You didn’t mind; you preferred it to Fidelia and Karina buzzing around you and doing all of the work.

They caught you up – on what was happening with the family, with the families that you’d known when you used to visit. Fidelia mentioned that Horacio would try to join you later, “But with his work – he’s so busy. We’ll be sure to save him a couple of empanadas, though. At least, we’ll try,” Fidelia winked conspiratorially at you.

\--

When you’d thought about the Horacio Carrillo that you used to know, you had an image of a young boy - talkative, smiling, open. The man in front of you now was imposing, quiet, sharp. 

He was taller than you remembered – that felt like a ridiculous thing to notice; you were taller than you were when you were thirteen, of course he was taller now, too. There was something about the cut of his uniform that made him seem even more striking, too. Had his eyelashes always been that long? You couldn’t remember. They were certainly long now, though. You eyed them as he looked down at his plate, cutting into his chicken, the left side of his lips quirking at a joke his mother had made for a half-second before dropping back down to its stern set.

You lowered your eyes to your plate as you saw Horacio lift his head.

“Your mother tells me you’ve been busy at the television station since you came down,” Fidelia said, drawing your attention back to her, “But you’re enjoying it?”

“I’m not sure ‘enjoy’ is the word I’d use,” You admitted, “It’s been...An adjustment. The stories I was producing when I was home were less violent.”

“You’re saying there’s no violence in the States?”

Your eyes flitted to Horacio on hearing his question -- well, it was phrased as a question, but it felt like a fucking challenge. It was the first time he’d spoken to you all evening, the first time he’d really looked at you. When he’d come in, you’d been given a quick nod and an apology for his lateness (though the apology had technically been directed at the entire table). But _now_.  
Now his dark eyes were stuck on yours, pinning you to your chair and _daring_ you to proclaim that America was a land of unicorns that shat fuckin’ rainbows.

“Not at all,” You shook your head, “There’s plenty. My previous position had me covering other types of stories, that’s all.”

“That gringo reporter, the red head,” Karina cut in, waving toward her hair (though hers wasn’t red where your lead reporter’s was), drawing your eyes from Horacio, “He seems like he’s pretty used to it. His accent, though…” She cringed. You smiled.

“He’s getting better. Not by much and very slowly, but...Hopefully we won't be here long enough for him to sound like a _Paisa_.”

“Oh, hon, no chance of that,” Karina waved you off, and you laughed.

“If you’re so unfamiliar with this type of reporting,” Horacio spoke up again, and you turned back to him, “Why are you here?”

“Because the way that Colombia is being represented in the news back home is making it look awful.”

“And you can fix that? How, by making Colombia appealing to other gringos?”

Horacio was looking at you like you were a piece of shit on his shoe. You felt your eyes narrow a bit. What the fuck was his problem? Had you spit in his empanada or something?

“No,” You said slowly, “By showing a different side of Colombia. The image that’s being projected now is solely that of Escobar’s land - opulence and death, no middle ground. They brought us down here to put our mics in the hands of the people that love this country and are fighting for it. We’re not meant to be the spokespeople, just the middlemen.”

Horacio didn’t answer as the two of you stared one another down. The only other sound in the room for a few moments was Matías shifting around in his seat.

“I’ll clear,” Karina said, breaking the tension between the two of you, “ _****Ayúdame, Horacito._ ”

Horacio looked away from you as he stood, taking up his and his mother’s dish. Karina took up hers, Matías, and yours before shooing Horacio into the kitchen. Fidelia reached out, patting your hand lightly.

“Forgive him.. He’s...quite stressed at work.”

You gave her a smile, reaching out and covering her hand with yours.

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

\--

“It’s alright, I can get myself home,” You reassured him.

He looked as unimpressed with you now as he did when you were speaking at dinner.

“On that?” He asked, nodding to the motorbike you were already sitting on.

“...No, I’m going to grab a second bike, strap my feet to the seats, and ride them home like they’re roller blades,” You retorted dryly. You weren’t around his family anymore, you didn’t have to be cordial in the face of his condescension. Your sarcasm made absolutely no impact on Corrillo, though; he merely blinked down at you before walking around the front of your bike.

“I’ll follow in my car.”

“I can get around fine on my own, you know. Just because your mother told you to make sure I get home safely doesn’t mean you have to,” You said, watching him open the door. He turned back to you.

“That’s actually _exactly_ what that means.”

\--

Horacio followed your motorbike all the way back to your apartment complex. You’d considered speeding ahead and weaving through traffic, but given the fact that Fidelia had already invited you back to the Carrillo home, you didn’t want to piss the guy off any more than you already had.

When you pulled into a spot outside of your apartment complex, you were careful not to wave or salute Horacio’s car as it passed by. You just gave one slight nod before lowering your head to take off your helmet; you didn’t know who was around, and the movement could easily be construed as you just removing your headgear.

\--

Horacio glanced at you out of his window, eyeing the small nod you gave him. He pulled into a spot a little ways up the block and idled, watching you in his rear view mirror. Once he saw that you’d made it inside alright, he pulled out of the spot, heading for his own apartment.

The nod had been subtle, almost slick. It was something he hadn’t expected of you.

Maybe you could get around fine on your own. He wouldn’t have expected that level of subtlety from Peña’s partner, Murphy.

“ _Pinche gringo_ ,” Horacio muttered at the thought of the man.

Despite his best efforts to think about other things, you were on Horacio’s mind that night. When he was tidying his apartment, he thought of the first moment he’d seen you. You had been a flash out of the corner of his eye, had leaned over to pick up the napkin that Matías had dropped, and then you righted yourself. It wasn’t hard for him to remember the gawky girl you’d been, but it had taken him a few moments for him to reconcile that image with the woman you’d become.

Horacio replayed your conversation in his mind that evening - the deliberateness with which you spoke, the calm, but also the edge of irritation.

He had irritated you.

Gringos irritated him almost on a daily basis. He had assumed you thought were another ‘savior’, coming down to Colombia to help the people do for what they supposedly could not do for themselves. Horacio considered your reasoning as he laid in bed. 

_We’re not meant to be the spokespeople, just the middlemen._

Middlemen. He wasn’t sure he liked that.

Bad things tended to happen to middlemen in Medellín.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was it about Horacio Corrillo’s tone that made every question sound like a statement? Ah, you knew what it was. The deadpan delivery coupled with that expression - the one that said, ‘If it were possible for me to kill you with my eyes, you would’ve been dead five minutes ago’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Carrillo isn’t married; this story is set in/around Season 1
> 
> *Disculpe, señorita - Excuse me, miss
> 
> **Quién es esa mujer - Who’s that woman?
> 
> ***Esta buena; La conoces? - She’s hot; you know her?

“We got a tip, we’ve gotta roll!”   
  
You looked up from the newspaper you’d been skimming when you heard Ray, your cameraman, and saw him scrambling for his bag.   
  
“Aw, fuck,” You mumbled. You’d only just gotten to the station, you hadn’t even had your coffee yet - hell, you hadn’t even put down your shit. Gene Davis, your reporter, was right behind Ray, smoothing his shirt down as if he was right about to go on camera and not get in the van.   
  
When you’d been told you’d be going down to Medellín, you’d asked your boss if there was any chance of getting a Colombian reporter, someone that would help you blend in with the locals. Your boss had chuckled as he shook his head, told you that you were thinking _too small_ , that the whole point was to stand out.   
  
And stand out you did. Colombia was not devoid of red-heads, but they tended to draw the eye. Add Davis’ subpar accent to the mix, and he was caught out pretty quickly. Everywhere you went, Davis’ red hair and flat, American-accented Spanish was like a fucking beacon that said ‘ _the gringo reporters are here to talk to you_ ’. You did your best when you were interviewing people, pulling the stories together for Gene before he had to go on camera, but people were usually distracted by him. You had an easier time asking questions when he wasn’t around.   
  
“I’m taking my bike,” You called out to Ray and Gene. That was easier. You’d get ahead, canvas the area, speak to a few people before the red-hot gringo alarm arrived on the scene.   
  
\--

  
“What are you doing here.”   
  
What was it about Horacio Corrillo’s tone that made every question sound like a statement? Ah, you knew what it was. The deadpan delivery coupled with that expression - the one that said, ‘ _If it were possible for me to kill you with my eyes, you would’ve been dead five minutes ago_ ’.  
  
“I’ll give you three guesses,” You said before nodding back toward the area that was already cordoned off by tape, “What happened?”   
  
“I’ll give you three guesses.”   
  
Your brows rose, and a surprised scoff left you.   
  
“Alright, smart guy,” You grumbled as you stepped around him.   
  
“You shouldn’t be here,” Horacio stuck close to you as you looked around. There were pools of blood on the ground, bullet casings; you could hear weeping. Your first week there, it had turned your stomach. Now, it was becoming the status quo.   
  
“You tell that to Valeria Velez, too?” You asked, eyeing the reporter that had already set up with her crew. Horacio graced you with a withering sidelong glance, and you rolled your eyes.   
  
“Taking that as a ‘no’,” You mumbled before stepping away from Horacio, walking toward the sound of the weeping.   
  
“ _*Disculpe, señorita_ ,” You said quietly, crouching in front of a young woman. She was sitting on a stoop, head in her hands. She peered up at you, tear tracks cutting through the dirt on her face. You gave her a small smile, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a tissue. You offered it to her and she took it, mumbling,   
  
“ _Gracias_.”   
  
You gave her a moment to gather herself before you began asking questions.  
  
\--   
  
Horacio lingered nearby, arms folded across his chest. He was watching his men clean up, but listening to you break down the young woman’s walls. You were gentle with her, didn’t push for answers where she was wary to give them, offered encouragement when she did give you information. You handled her with the same patience he had seen you handle his nephew with the week before. It was...Endearing, almost.

\--

You thanked her for her time, gave her another tissue, then straightened, turning away from her and reaching into your bag. You pulled out a small notebook and a pen.   
  
Horacio peered over your shoulder, brows furrowed.   
  
“What are you--”  
  
“Ssh.”   
  
He went quiet and still behind you. You looked up at him a few moments later as you tucked the pen behind your ear.   
  
“What?”   
  
“...Why didn’t you just take notes while you were talking to her?”   
  
You shook your head.   
  
“People that are in distress don’t like that, they just feel like they’re being milked for info. Which, you know, they are, but I can at least pretend that they’re not.”   
  
You began to walk away from him, and you felt him fall into step beside you.   
  
“Are you just going to trail me the whole time? Because having you linger around me is actually going to make my job harder,” You stopped walking and looked up at him. You caught a flash of-- You didn’t even _know_ what in Carrillo’s eyes; it disappeared as quickly as it arrived.   
  
“Carrillo!”   
  
You both turned your head as his name was called. You spotted two men standing by a truck - one brunette, one blond.   
  
“Gringos to the rescue,” Carrillo muttered, “Excuse me.”   
  
You watched him go, brow furrowed. Gringos to the rescue? What the hell did that mean? You didn’t have time to dwell, though; you had a job to do.   
  
\--   
  
“What happened?” Murphy asked, nodding toward the building.   
  
“Hand-off gone badly. Posion was chewing out the workers about the kilos being light,” Horacio recalled what he’d overheard the woman telling you, “He got a tip-off that we were on our way, we missed him by a few minutes.”   
  
“Shit,” Murphy sighed.   
  
“My men are still inside clearing out the lab,” Horacio added. Murphy nodded, grabbing his camera from the front seat of the car and stepping around them.   
  
“Hey,” Javier nudged Horacio’s arm with his own, lighting a cigarette before nodding over to where you were speaking to another bystander, “** _Quién es esa mujer?”_  
  
“ _La reportera_ ,” Horacio answered stiffly. He recognized that look in Peña’s eye, saw the sweep that the other man gave your form; the last thing he wanted to have to think about was whether or not he had to protect you from Peña, too. Not that he’d be going out of his way to protect you from things - he’d followed you home that night because his mother had asked him to.   
  
“*** _Esta buena_ ,” Peña muttered, “ _La conoces?_ ”   
  
Horacio felt his jaw clench at the question. Could Peña focus for five minutes?   
  
“Javi!” Murphy called Javier from inside. Javier turned his head, nodding when he saw Murphy waving him in. He patted Horacio on the arm, ignorant to the tight pull of the man’s shoulders as he headed inside, expecting Horacio to follow.   
  
And follow Horacio did, but not without giving you one more look.   
  
\--  
  
You didn’t see it. You were too busy speaking with someone.   
  
You felt it, though. 

\--  
  
“I think we’ve got it,” Gene flashed you his best ‘ _my face was made to be on television screens_ ’ smile, and you nodded in return.   
  
“Let’s get back to the studio, I wanna get this together as quickly as possible,” Ray grumbled as he began packing away his equipment. You already had your script written in your notebook, you just needed to type it up.   
  
“I’ll meet you guys back there,” You said, “I wanna grab something to eat.”   
  
Gene and Ray nodded, heading for the van. You shifted your bag on your shoulder, walking over to your motorbike. Before you could climb on, you heard,   
  
“Finished?”   
  
You turned to see Carrillo approaching your motorbike.   
  
“For now. Are you?” You added, glancing at the men filing out of the building.   
  
“Until next time,” He folded his arms across his chest. You nodded once as you settled on your motorbike, picking your helmet up.   
  
“Are you going to insist on tailing me to the station, or am I free to go?” You asked, adjusting your bag so that you wouldn’t jostle it during your ride. Horacio didn’t laugh or crack a smile - not that you’d really expected him to.   
  
“What’d you mean earlier when you said ‘gringos to the rescue’?” You asked. Carrillo chanced a glance over his shoulder at the men that had called him over before.   
  
“Not everyone came down here with the intention of being a middleman,” Was his explanation. He added, “Drive carefully, _patito_ ,” before turning away from you. You floundered for a few moments; that answer had only given you more questions - and why did that nickname sound so sweet coming out of that gruff mouth?  
  
You shook your head, pulling your helmet on. You could dwell on all of that later; now, you had a job to do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Horacio was as talkative he had been the last time you’d had dinner with the family (which was to say, not very), he was certainly less combative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Cursing; some slight angst? Tiny bit. 
> 
> *I’m thirsty. Can I have juice?
> 
> **Your mother said no juice until dinner. Patito has some water.

When you arrived at Karina’s house that weekend, you hesitated getting off of your bike. You pulled off your helmet and took a moment to look.   
  
You hadn’t seen Horacio smiling so widely since you were kids.   
  
But there he was, outside, kicking a football back and forth with Matías. You watched Matías try to dart around Horacio to what you assumed was his goal post. Before the boy could get far, Horacio scooped him up by the under arms, whirling the kid around to face the other way. You smiled as Matías squirmed out of Horacio’s hold when he saw you. You got off of your motorbike as Horacio let Matías down.   
  
Matías came running up to you, grinning. You ruffled his hair, asking him about school as you steered him back toward Horacio. After answering your question, Matías darted around Horacio, going for where the football had been forgotten. Horacio folded his arms over his chest as you drew closer to him, and you were very, very careful not to note the way the fabric pulled over his biceps.   
  
“What are you doing here?” He asked. You rolled your eyes.   
  
“I am so not having that conversation again,” You said, stepping around him and jogging up the steps to Karina’s home. 

\--

“ _Mamá_ should be finished with the charity drive by now, so I’m going to go and walk her back,” Karina told you. You glanced back at her, smiling.   
  
“Alright. Everything’s in hand here.” 

Karina grinned, pecking you on the cheek before leaving the kitchen. You heard her call out to Horacio and Matías as she left. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of your occasional shuffling around the kitchen, the sizzling of food on the stove, and the hum of the radio playing in the background.   
  
“Do you need any help?”  
  
You glanced back to see Horacio hovering in the doorway. You arched a brow. You weren’t lying when you’d told Karina that you could handle it, but you wouldn’t mind the extra pair of hands.  
  
“How are you at chopping?” You asked.   
  
“A little out of practice, but I’ll do my best,” Horacio came to stand beside you at the counter. You nudged a cutting board toward him before stepping over to the stove to make sure nothing was catching in the pan. You glanced over at Horacio’s progress.   
  
“I thought you said you were out of practice.”   
  
“I might just be by my sister’s standards,” Horacio answered, not bothering to look away from his work.   
  
“I’m sure she’ll approve.”  
  
You looked down at Matías as he came running in.  
  
“* _Tengo sed. Puedo tomar jugo_?” He asked, stopping between you and Horacio at the counter and bouncing on the balls of his feet.   
  
“** _Tu madre dijo que no había jugo hasta la cena_ ,” Horacio reminded him, “ _Patito tiene un poco de agua_.”   
  
You smiled, passing your full glass to Matías and chuckling as he began to gulp from it.   
  
“Slow down,” You chastised lightly.   
  
“Why do my mom and Uncle Horacio call you _‘patito’_?” Matías asked as he passed the glass back to you. You glanced up at Horacio, smiling a little.   
  
“Well… right before the last time I came down here with my family, I tried to dye my hair and it went badly. It came out this bright yellow--”  
  
“And her mother made her cut a lot of it off. She looked like a fuzzy little duck,” Horacio recalled. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stop from cringing at the memory.   
  
“It was bad,” You laughed before Matías ran out of the kitchen again.   
  
“It wasn’t that bad, _patito_ ,” Horacio murmured. You looked up at him, smiling a bit.   
  
“...I remember you were the only one that didn’t make fun of me. I was always grateful for that.”   
  
Horacio turned his head a little to meet your eye. His lips pulled into a soft smile and he gave you a small nod before the two of you returned to your tasks.   
  
\--  
  
While Horacio was as talkative he had been the last time you’d had dinner with the family (which was to say, not very), he was certainly less combative. Now and again you thought felt him looking at you when neither of you were speaking. You didn’t turn to look at him to confirm; you were certain you were wrong. Horacio had no reason to be looking at you.   
  
\--

You knew without asking that Horacio would be following you home again. You settled on your motorbike and leaned against your helmet, watching Horacio adjust his jacket as he came to a stop beside your motorbike. You’d been meaning to ask - the evening had gone well enough, and you’d wanted to catch up with him without his mom and sister around.   
  
“Do you want to come up for a drink when we get to mine?” The words almost came out in a rush, and he seemed as surprised by your asking as you were.   
  
“...I have to work early,” He said, “But thank you.”   
  
It was a perfectly understandable justification, so why did it leave your stomach twisted in disappointed knots? You nodded, straightening up and pulling on your helmet. 

\--

Dinner at Karina’s had essentially become the highlight of your week, whether Horacio was there or not. The Carrillos were as close as you had to a family in Medellín; you were grateful that they let you into their home, you were glad to be able to help where you could. That was why you felt guilty when you realized that you wouldn’t be able to make it over the following weekend.   
  
As soon as you realized it (which was around three in the afternoon that Sunday), you’d called to let Karina know; she had told you that it was alright.   
  
“Don’t work too hard,” She’d added, “And make sure you eat something. You and Horacio both, not a quiet Sunday for either of you.”   
  
“Horacio?” You repeated, lifting your pen from your pad of paper.  
  
“He’ll be working late tonight. I can only hope that he takes a moment for himself-- No, Matías, put that down-- I hope we’ll see you next week, _Patito_!” Karina added before hanging up. You lowered your phone back into the cradle, frowning. You knew from your other conversations with Karina and Fidelia that Horacio spent a lot of time working, and often spent late nights in the office. You could see it in him sometimes - you saw it in it the first time he’d come to dinner directly from work.   
  
\--   
  
It was a longshot - it was nearly _midnight_ , with any luck, the man had gone home already. You’d grabbed some food from a place near your job before driving over to the base. You could see a light on in the office when you pulled up. If it was Horacio, fine, he had some extra food; if it wasn’t, you could just give the food to whoever it was.   
  
You went inside, looking around. The light that you’d seen on was at a cluster of desks deep into the bullpen. There was Horacio, a cigarette perched between two fingers as he hastily scrawled something out on a pad. He had a pair of headphones on. You took a few steps deeper into the office and stopped a way off. You waited until he finished writing before you knocked on the desk closest to you to draw his attention without startling him. Horacio glanced up, then did a double-take at the sight of you.   
  
“What are you doing here.” 

For some reason, you'd thought Horacio might sound surprised; you were wrong.

He sounded _pissed_.  
  
\--   
  
Horacio pulled his headphones off, dropping them onto the desk and resting his cigarette in the ashtray. He stood, watching you come closer.   
  
“I just--”   
  
He cut you off with a wave of his hand.   
  
“It’s late, you shouldn’t be here.”   
  
He saw you lean away from him a little bit, affronted.   
  
“Karina mentioned that you couldn’t make it to dinner, I just brought you something to eat,” You raised the bag in your hand.   
  
“You don’t need to do that.”   
  
“Well, it’s a little late for--” You started to laugh.   
  
“Did Karina ask you to do this?”   
  
“No, but--”   
  
“Go home.”   
  
The smile dropped away from your face and you set the bag on one of the desks, turning on your heel and striding out of the bullpen. He walked over to the window, peering out through the blinds. A moment later, he saw you stomp over to your motorbike, climb on, and ride off. It only took a few seconds for the smell of the food to hit his nose and for the guilt to set in. He sighed, leaning against the wall and pinching the bridge of his nose.   
  
You were trying to be _nice_. You were trying to be nice, and he’d snapped at you because he’d just heard one of his higher-ups tipping off Poison about a phony operation. His mother would be ashamed of him; his sister would _kill him_. But you put yourself in enough danger on a daily basis as it was. You didn’t need to invite any more danger by being near Horacio any more than necessary, by coming to his workplace. If anyone followed you there -- if anyone followed you _back_ \--   
  
Horacio pushed the thought away as he stepped away from the window. He’d call your apartment in half an hour. Karina had given him your number the week before, he may as well use it.   
  
He sat down at his desk, taking a swig from his open bottle. He eyed the bag you’d left on a nearby desk before he turned back to his work.   
  
When he dialed your number later, it rang twice before he heard you answer, “Hello?”   
  
He hesitated before answering, “Goodnight, _patito_.”   
  
“...Hope your dinner was good, _pendejo_ ,” You answered before hanging up. He sighed. He deserved that.   
  
He set the phone down before he got up, walking over to the bag of food and opening it. He carried it back to his desk and unpacked it. He took one bite of the _arroz attollado_ and groaned. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was.   
  
He wasn’t sure what made him feel more rotten - how rude he’d been to you or the fact that this was the first thing he’d eaten since that morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was going to make you understand why he’d been rude, and he could only pray that you were going to forgive him.

Horacio didn’t see you or hear from you for two weeks.

It wasn't that something had happened to you, he was certain of that; if something was off, Karina or his mother would've sounded the alarm. When he'd spoken to them, he'd instead been treated with anecdotes about the last two dinners you came over for.  


On that second Sunday night, he'd heard about you surprising Fidelia with a bouquet of carnations. Karina had told him that you'd gotten a haircut ("Just a trim-- Not like the last summer she came down, you remember? Up to the top of her ears?"). Matías had chattered about how you made _ Pastel Glorias _ from scratch in Karina's kitchen -- even let Matías help, and lick the spoon when the preparations were done and the dessert was baking.  


What Horacio hadn't heard about was how boorish his behavior was. He'd known that if you'd mentioned it to Karina or his mother, he would never hear the end of it. Their complete lack of scolding meant that you had kept the incident at his office to yourself. 

At moments, when he was at work, he'd let his mind briefly drift to where you were and what you might be up to. He could picture you on your motorbike, zipping through the streets of Medellín and chasing down your next story. Late that night, when the day had been rough and particularly unkind, Horacio let himself conjure an image of you baking - flour smudged on your cheek, helping Matías when he asked, showing him how to layer and fold the pastry - casting Horacio a smile when you caught him watching you in the doorway.  


He wanted to apologize-- needed to, but he didn't want to do it over the phone, and he couldn't just show up at your apartment. You kept as irregular hours as he did, apparently.  


The morning after he spoke to his family, he saw you under less than favorable circumstances. The circumstances were as such for a couple of different reasons. For one, a bordello had been shot up. For two, when he spotted you, you were talking to  _ Peña _ .  


Horacio’s jaw clenched at the sight of the man casually leaning against a building as he spoke to you. You had your notebook in your hand, so you were there in an official capacity, but the smile on the DEA agent’s face told Horacio that he wasn’t interested in  _ that _ . Horacio was getting out of the car before it had even actually stopped. Trujillo was startled at the sight of his boss sliding out of the still-slowing vehicle, but Horacio waved the man’s apology off, glancing up the road to make sure he wasn’t about to get run over before he was striding across the street toward the two of you.    
  
He was going to tell Peña that he needed to speak with you. He was going to apologize to you. He was going to  _ make you understand _ why he’d been rude, and he could only pray that you were going to forgive him.    
  
But when you heard footsteps approaching, when you turned your head and looked him in the eye, the words died in his throat, the plan jumbled in his head.    
  
He was staring. He must’ve been, because you’d looked away from him, down to your book to finish writing whatever note it was you were writing, and his eye had trailed over the curves of your profile, over where your a loose strand of hair had been tucked behind your ear to keep it out of the way, and he vaguely registered Peña asking, “* _ Estás bien _ ?” *You okay?    
  
He pressed this -- this  _ bubble _ of disappointment down and he shifted his gaze to Javier, gave him a nod and asked him where Murphy was.    
  
“My partner,” Javier made it a point to relay that to you before answering Horacio, and it irked him that you gave an understanding nod, making a note of that as well.    
  
“He’s inside,” Javier answered before he nodded a greeting to Trujillo, who’d come to join the group of you.    
  
“We should go take care of this,” He added, turning back to you, “You’ll call if you have any more questions?” He asked.    
  
“I don’t have any more questions, Agent Peña.”    
  
Horacio was a little relieved to hear your tone so business-like, clipped, almost.    
  
“You can call me anyway,” Javier tacked on, giving you a wink through his yellow-tinted aviator frames. You offered him an unimpressed,  _ uh-huh _ , thanked him for his time, then gave Horacio a quick nod before stepping around the both of them. Javier whistled, watching you go.    
  
“Looks like we both struck out, huh?” He teased Horacio before pushing off of the building and turning to head inside.  
  
Horacio looked after you, watching as you sidled up to one of the prostitutes that worked at the establishment and offered her a cigarette. There was a chance that you wouldn’t be there when he was finished up inside.    
  
“ _ Coronel?” _ Trujillo asked beside him. Horacio glanced down at him before nodding and following Peña inside.  


\--    
  
“May I speak with you?”    
  
You wanted to say no. You wanted to go  _ home _ . You’d already sent Ray back with the footage and the script, you were done with today. Hell, you’d been done with today since before you’d even gotten out of bed. But Horacio had looked almost devastatingly blank when he’d looked at you before, like someone had managed to knock the words from him.    
  
You turned, leaning back against the seat of your bike and folding your arms over your chest.    
  
“Yes?” You asked, looking up at him.   
  
Horacio’s face was different now. It was more like what you’re used to - steely, austere. Well, it needed to be, of course, you reminded yourself of that. Look at where you were, why you were even there. He took a step closer, until the two of you were toe to toe and he towered over you.    
  
“I wanted to apologize for my rudeness.”    
  
The words were quiet, but not mumbled out; slow, but in a way that indicated a deliberateness, not deception or insincerity. His eyes were downcast; he was looking nearly past you, to your knees, to your shoes.    
  
“It was kind of you to bring me dinner. That evening was particularly difficult, but it was unfair of me to act as I did and take that frustration out on you. I was also concerned for your safety, but I could’ve… found a way to express that without snapping at you.”   
  
He lifted his eyes to yours, then, as he added, “I’m sorry.”    
  
You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting - maybe another  _ what are you doing here _ \- but certainly not  _ that _ .    
  
“...I appreciate and accept your apology,” You nodded after a moment, “Your… Attitude aside, I get that what you see day in and day out  _ supremely _ sucks, and I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself.”    
  
Horacio pushed a huff out through his nose.    
  
“How exactly do you handle yourself?” He asked.    
  
“I have a gun, Horacio.”    
  
He didn’t answer for a long moment as he blinked down at you.    
  
“Do you know how to use it?”    
  
\--

  
“See?”    
  
“Hm.”    
  
“‘ _ Hm _ ’ what, what ‘ _ hm’ _ ?” You nodded toward the paper target you’d just shot. Horacio stood a couple of feet away, brow raised. 

“Come on, that’s-- I mean, it’s pretty good.” 

“Hm.”

“Stop that.”

Horacio stepped closer, gesturing toward the gun, “May I?”    
  
You nodded, assuming he would take the gun from you. Instead he stepped around you. He used his foot to lightly kick at the inside of one of yours; you widened your stance accordingly. Horacio stepped around to stand beside you.    
  
“Put your arms back the way they were when you shot.”    
  
You did as he asked and lifted your arms, extending them the way that they were. Horacio let out another one of those little humming noises that you were coming to hate so much.    
  
“What,” You asked flatly.    
  
“Your form is a good one, but not right for you. If I may…” And then Horacio’s hands were on your arms, careful as they guided the left hand so that your arm was bent parallel to your body. Then he rounded you, lifting your right arm so that it was snug to your body. He reached down, positioning your left hand so that it was wrapping around the right. Then his hands settled on his hips, warm, certain as they twisted them to match the stance that he’d set for your feet.   
  
“... How does that feel?” He asked as his hands dropped away.    
  
“Different,” You answered, unsure.    
  
“Try it.”    
  
You fired a few rounds. To your surprise, your groupings were much tighter now. You glanced over at Horacio, brow raising.    
  
“There’s more than one way to fire a gun,” He was matter-of-fact about it as he shrugged a shoulder, “And as I said, your form was not bad.”    
  
“Your exact words were, ‘your form is a good one’.”    
  
You turned back to the target, firing until the clip was empty. You lowered the gun, rolling your wrist, shaking your hand a bit.    
  
“I hope you don’t get used to that feeling, but if you’d like to practice more often, you can come here.”    
  
You glanced down at the gun before you looked over at Horacio.    
  
“Should I call ahead when I do? Do the appointments need to be before midnight?”   
  
His gaze was tired, almost scathing.    
  
“I’m hoping that you’re joking, but that would be preferable.”    
  
“You’re so  _ particular _ ,” You teased, walking over to pick up your bag. You straightened up, poking through your bag.    
  
“Are you going back to work?” Horacio asked. You shook your head.    
  
“Nope. It’s been a long day and I am heading home, but…” You pull out a tupperware container and pass it to him, “Here. Take.” You tucked the gun away as you turned to grab your jacket.    
  
“What is this?” Horacio asked.    
  
“ _ Pastel Glorias _ . I was gonna drop ‘em off later.”    
  
When you turned back to Horacio he was frowning. Why was he frowning  _ now _ ?   
  
“...Don’t like  _ Pastel Glorias _ ?” You asked after a moment, “I can-- I can take ‘em back--”    
  
“No. Thank you.”    
  
Horacio gave you a stiff nod. Part of you was a little suspicious that he was only taking them because he was too polite and he’d already made one apology that day.    
  
“Sure,” You nodded, shifting your bag on your shoulder.    
  
“Give me a moment,” Horacio said.    
  
“For what?”   
  
“To get my keys. I’ll drive back with you.”    
  
“You don’t have to do that.”    
  
“Hm.”    
  
You definitely hated that sound.    
  
But you didn’t hate the sight of the pastry crumbs that Horacio hadn’t managed to brush off of his collar when he got back from his desk.    
  
And you  _ really _ didn’t hate the slight tinging of pink in his cheeks when you reached up and brushed them off for him yourself. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were getting stories with a lot of blood but little detail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone has had a good week!
> 
> Warnings: Cursing; a lil fluff; a lil angst.
> 
> *Prométeme - Promise me
> 
> **Prometo - I promise

You groaned at the sound of your phone ringing. You reached for the receiver, fumbling with it in the dark before grumbling, “This better be fuckin’ good, Ray.”  
  
“Write this address down,” Was his answer. Not it is, which meant that he knew that you wouldn’t like the story. You groaned, tucking the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you picked up a pen to jot the address down on the notepad that you kept on your bedside table. 

  
\--  
  
The last week had been a slog. Your team was getting the worst of the worst stories. Your ‘partners’ at Cadena Uno had been tipping off Valeria Velez to the better stories and sending you across town. You were getting stories with a lot of blood but little detail. Velez wasn’t even a newscaster on Cadena Uno, but a few of the bookers at the station seemed convinced that if you got consistently shitty stories, you’d be packing your bags by the end of the month.  
  
Frankly, you were a little tempted. You hadn’t gotten more than three hours of sleep together lately without the team at the station throwing you all some bogus story; the witnesses you’d been interviewing had been little help. Your station manager back home had been eating the footage up, but you hated it. It felt like the same sensational stories that everyone else had been playing up in the States - you were peddling the same images of violence and discord, offering the same idea of a nation that couldn’t get a handle on a crisis. You weren’t middlemen anymore, you were shit-stirrrers. 

\--

“Are you alright?”  
  
You didn’t open your eyes or lift your head toward the sound of the question, just hummed. What energy you’d had that Sunday evening had gone mostly toward Matías - the boy seemed to always have a wealth of questions and an inexhaustible curiosity.  
  
“Are you?” You asked, finally opening your eyes as you felt Horacio settle beside you on the front steps of Karina’s home. Karina and Fidelia, seeing how tired you were, had insisted on clearing up from dinner, and had shooed you outside after you’d eaten.  
  
“Do I seem as though I’m not?” Horacio frowned.  
  
“...Do I?” You retorted.  
  
“I’m not sure how honestly you’d like for me to answer that, _patito_.”  
  
You snorted at that, turning your head and looking out over the street.  
  
“I’m fine,” You shrugged, “I was just resting my eyes for a moment. It’s… It’s been a week.”  
  
“Would you like to talk about it?” Horacio asked.  
  
You turned to look at Horacio. He was watching you, brow furrowed; his lips were still turned down in a slight frown.  
  
“... Do you ever find yourself questioning why you’re doing what you’re doing?”  
  
Horacio seemed surprised by the question. You saw his brow unwrinkle as he turned his face from yours to consider it.  
  
“I used to,” he admitted, “When I was a private, before I fully understood the scope of -- what needed to be changed, and how.”  
  
“You don’t question what you’re doing now?”  
  
“Never.”  
  
He said it so unflinchingly, so readily. There wasn’t a second of hesitation in his answer. You admired it; hell, you envied it.  
  
“I take it you’re questioning your position here?” Horacio’s prying was a little less gentle now, and you were as amused by his curiosity as you were dismayed by your answer. You nodded a little, lowering your eyes to the steps in front of you.  
  
“Yes,” You confirmed, “Lately it’s just been so…” You trailed off, searching for the right words. Horacio didn’t push or try to fill your words in for you, just let you sort yourself out. You finally settled on,  
  
“... So typical of the news back home. The tips we’re getting from the station aren’t conducive to what we were sent down here for.” You scrubbed your hand over your face, “I’m just going to have to change tactics, chase the stories down for myself, call the team in after me.”  
  
“How will you do that?”  
  
“Spend more time on the streets, make friends with people with their ear to the ground.”  
  
When you turned to Horacio again, you found a deeper frown than before; clearly he wasn’t a fan of the idea.  
  
“I can’t keep running around the way I have been all week, chasing down--” You glanced over your shoulder to the front door to make sure neither Fidelia nor Matías were lingering and listening, “Awful stories that paint this country as some slum with no one around that gives a shit-- _Especially_ when I know that that’s not true.”  
  
You rested your elbows on your knees, pillowing your head on your hand and eyeing the sun sinking.  
  
“... Promise me that you’ll be careful.”  
  
You turned your head a little bit to see Horacio’s eyes set out over the city.  
  
“Of course I’ll be careful.”  
  
“You’ll carry your gun at all times.”  
  
He wasn’t asking, he was telling.  
  
“Horacio,” You sighed, but he shook his head, stressing,  
  
“* _Prométeme_.”  
  
You held your pinky up to him, like you did when you were kids. 

“** _Prometo_ ,” You murmured. Horacio glanced at your pinky out of the corner of his eye and cracked a small smile. He raised his hand, hooking his pinky around yours and giving it a squeeze. 

\--

You’d managed to make friends with Celeste, the daughter of the owner of the _pulperia_ near your apartment. Well...Friends was a little bit of an exaggeration. The two of you had gotten into the habit of exchanging friendly smiles and nods when you stopped in for the odd item; now and again you’d make small talk. You knew that she had three younger siblings, that she looked after the store when her dad was too unwell to.  
  
You stopped in there on your way home from work. She was minding the register, and you gave a small wave on your way in. You were looking through the chips when you heard the tinkling of the door opening. You glanced over on instinct, and did a double-take when you saw who had walked in.  
  
César Garivia, the current advisor to the country’s best hope at a future, shopped at your fucking _pulperia_? Since when? He greeted Celeste, spoke quietly as she got down what must be his usual pack of cigarettes. You spied the label, eyes narrowing. You were quiet, listening to them chat lightly.  
  
“Last pack again. You’re very lucky, _Señor Gaviria_ ,” Karina laughed.  
  
You waited until he’d paid, bid her a goodnight, and left, before you approached the counter.  
  
“How often does he come in here?” You asked, nodding after Gaviria. She glanced after him before shrugging.  
  
“Couple times a week,” She shrugged.  
  
“Usually on Sundays, ‘round now?”  
  
“I guess.”  
  
You nodded, smiling and paying.  
\--  
  
“Not so lucky tonight, Mr. Gaviria?” You asked as he stepped out of the pulperia the next Sunday. His brow furrowed at you.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“I think I may’ve snagged the last pack,” You gave him an apologetic smile.  
  
“...That’s quite alright,” He nodded once before turning away.  
  
“I’d be happy to trade them,” You added, taking a step forward, “I’d-- Like to speak to you for a few moments, if you can spare them.”  
  
He turned back to you, frowning. You held the pack of cigarettes up, “Look, I don’t smoke, so I’ll hand these over either way. I just have a couple of questions.”  
  
\--

  
The fact that you had managed to land an interview with Luis Carlos Galán had caught the attention of your local counterparts, and especially of your station manager. It was clear by the end of the week that you wouldn’t be going anywhere.  
  
Gaviria hadn’t liked you, but you’d sent him a reel of the stories that you’d produced previously about Colombia and the Medellín cartel, along with comparisons of the way other new stations in the States had reported on what was happening. He saw you as the best of a bunch of bad options, and you couldn’t blame him - as unflattering as it was, it got your foot in the damn door. Your exclusive interview with Galán, the man slated to be the next president of Colombia, one of the only men to so openly oppose Escobar since Rodrgio Lara, had been national news in the States. Other stations wanted to know how you’d gotten your in.  
  
\-- 

Your new tactic wasn’t always successful. You hit dead-ends, shitty leads, had a few run-ins with shady characters. There were nights that you were glad you actually kept your promise to Horacio to carry your gun with you at all times. You hadn’t had to use it yet, and you hoped that you wouldn’t have to, but it made you feel safer.  
\--  
  
“Still at your office, then.” You were surprised to hear his voice when you answered the phone. You’d had no calls from Horacio for the last week; you’d missed on that Sunday’s dinner again for work.  
  
“Clearly,” You chuckled, adding a few notes to Gene’s script for the morning, “Why are you calling?”  
  
“It’s late, _patito_.”  
  
You glanced at your watch. Half past one in the morning? This was nothing.  
  
“...A little,” You conceded before you leaned back in your seat, “How’d you know I’d be here?”  
  
There was a beat of silence and you rolled your eyes.  
  
“I mean I could’ve been out on a story.”  
  
“I played a hunch.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“Are you nearly finished?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I’ll take you home.”  
  
“I have my bike.”  
  
“I’ll follow.”  
  
“‘Horacio--”  
  
“I’ll wait for you.”  
  
You rolled your eyes a little bit.  
  
“Will you come up for a drink when we get there?” You asked.  
  
“... It’s late.”  
  
That wasn’t a no. 

\--

Horacio was walking around like he was in a museum -- arms tucked behind his back, peering at things curiously, but not touching anything. Knowing that he was distracted, you let yourself take a moment to watch him. You usually saw him in casual clothing at Karina’s house, but it dawned him that you saw him in his uniform more often than you saw him out of it.

Not that you saw him out of his uniform as in--

The lack of sleep was making you a little zoo-y, you told yourself, as you felt the idea spread warmth to your face.

“Here,” You said, stepping around the island in the kitchen, a drink in each hand. Horacio took the drink with murmured thanks. You nodded, walking over to your couch and settling down on it.

“What’s got you out so late, anyway? -- Don’t say I have. I mean you didn’t leave your apartment just to sit outside of the tv station, did you?” You frowned, patting the cushion beside when you Horacio looked briefly at a loss with what to do with himself. He hesitated before he sat down beside you, close enough to touch, but not cozied right up to you.

“No, I did not stalk you to your workplace,” He grumbled. You snorted, shifting on the couch cushion to face him.

“I didn’t say that,” You said, bringing one of your legs up to rest on the couch, “I was just-- You’re avoiding my question.”

“I was listening to wiretaps.”

It seemed like he didn’t like telling you so. You watched him take a sip of his drink, eyed the staunch set of his shoulders and the tight pull of his jaw. He was sitting like he was still in the office.

“... We can talk about something else,” You offered gently, reaching up and smoothing down over a fold in his sleeve. He glanced down to your fingers and was quiet for a few moments.

“Karina and _Mamá_ missed you at dinner. Matías, too.” 

You smiled, eyes and fingers still on his sleeve.

“I missed them, too… And you.”

You felt ridiculous for saying so, like you were still thirteen years old, and Karina had made a joke about you and Horacio K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

“I missed you, too, _patito_ ,” Horacio’s admission was a murmur, and you felt yourself grin at it. You glanced up at him from under your lashes and found him watching you.

“... You’ve been careful?” He asked.

“I haven’t had to use my gun, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Horacio nodded a little bit.

“I’ve been worried about you,” He admitted. You lifted your head, frowning.

“What, again? Why?”

His mouth twisted as he turned his gaze back down his drink.

“The interview, with Galán.”

“You think they’d come after our crew just for talking to the guy?”

“Escobar may be in Panama right now, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have people around to do his dirty work. Without their _patrón_ to keep them on a tight leash, they may be a little more reckless with their targets.”

He glanced over at you again.

“I just want you safe, _patito_.”

“I know,” You were still running your fingers over his sleeve. You didn’t know why; it wasn’t as if you’d never felt fabric like it before, or had never been close to him. It wasn’t as if you had a sudden love for greek khaki.

You stilled as Horacio shifted his drink from his right hand to his left, then settled his right hand over yours. His fingers were a little calloused from years of rough work, but he was gentle as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“I should be going,” he murmured.

“...You don’t have to,” You offered quietly, eyeing where his hand was wrapped around yours, “Could stay here. Bed’s big enough.”

He didn’t answer you for a few moments. Maybe he wasn’t sure what you were offering.

“Couch is pretty comfy, too,” You added, glancing up at him, “It’s… It’s really late, is all.”

He arched a brow.

“You’re worried about me, now?”

You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head, “I always worry about you.”

You tried not to be offended by how taken aback he seemed.

“It’s not like you deliver mail for a living,” You added.

“...With respect, I do not think I would be comfortable on this couch,” Horacio said after a few moments. You shrugged.

“Bed, then,” You said simply, “If you want to stay.”

His hand tightened briefly around yours as you said it.

“... I should go,” He finally said. You nodded, taking another drink and drowning your disappointment with it. You got up, following him to your front door. He stopped in the front hall, turning back to you. He didn’t speak for a long moment, then,

“I know that I’m leaving, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t _want_ to stay.”

And then he reached out, gave your hand another squeeze, and bid you goodnight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Escobar back in Colombia, things were sure to escalate. It was like Carrillo had warned Peña - the man would make this country bleed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Cursing; a lil fluff; a lil angst; canon-typical violence
> 
> Canelazo is a spiced cinnamon rum drink.

It’s reasons like this that Horacio had spent more time at work than at home.    
  
It’s reasons like this that Horacio didn’t let himself stay at your apartment when you first asked.    
  
But there he was, on your doorstep, shivering a little from the rain.    
  
If he had chosen to be naïve in regards to matters of his own feelings, he’d tell himself that he wasn’t sure how he’d wound up there, that he’d been planning to go to his apartment and when he looked up, he was at your door. But he knew himself far better than that. It had been a long day, a longer night, and a short, but infuriating conversation with the man he’d been chasing ceaselessly. With Escobar back in Colombia, things were sure to escalate. It was like Carrillo had warned Peña - the man would make this country bleed.    
  
Horacio didn’t want to excuse his actions. He wanted calm. He wanted comfort.    
  
He wanted  _ you _ .   
  
He knew that you were home; your motorbike was out front.    
  
Horacio raised his hand and knocked on your door.    
  
It was a few moments before he heard the steady thumping of your feet coming down the hall. It was in that quiet that Horacio reconsidered being there.    
  
Escobar had threatened his family, had gotten to him through someone close to him, someone he considered a friend to get him a message - cease and desist for a single payment of  _ six million dollars _ . He was a liability to you.    
  
But then you were opening the door, peering up at him and frowning -- and you’d asked why he was there, but he couldn’t answer, even as you were ushering him inside. 

  
\--  
  
“Get out of that jacket,” You ordered Horacio, and you were just short of pushing the damn thing off of him yourself. The fabric was practically soaked through. You hung it up before you turned back to Horacio. You weren’t going to ask if he was alright, not right now - the man was half-soaked and frozen in your front hall, that was indication enough.    
  
“Shoes, too-- Come on,” You nodded to them, even as he gave you a look, “I’m sure they’re wet-- And socks. We need to warm you up. You want a drink?”    
  
He gave a short nod, and you left in the front hall to undo his shoes and take his socks off. You headed into the kitchen. You heard Horacio head down the hall a few moments later and you said, “I’ll be a few minutes, just make yourself comfortable.”    
  
When you reemerged with two mugs of hot  _ canelazo _ , you found Horacio sitting on your couch, hunched over and staring at his hands. You set the mugs down on the coffee table before plucking the blanket that you kept on the back of the couch up.    
  
“Here,” You settled down beside Horacio, opening the blanket and spreading it across his lap as he leaned back, “This should warm you up.”    
  
You picked up one of the mugs, passing it to him.    
  
“Warm your hands for a few moments-- it may still be too hot to drink,” You warned. Horacio didn’t speak for a few moments. He just set the mug down on one knee before he spread the blanket over your lap as well. You shifted a little closer at this, pressing your thigh to his.    
  
He wasn’t in uniform this time, but you were sure that whatever was wrong was something to do with work. If it was anything wrong with his family, he surely would’ve said by now. You reached up, smoothing his damp hair away from his forehead. Horacio’s eyes fell closed at your touch.    
  
“What happened?” You asked softly. Horacio’s head turned toward you a little before he shook his head. You weren’t sure if that meant that he couldn’t tell you or if he simply didn’t want to, but you didn’t press. You watched him lift the mug to his lips and take a sip. His eyes opened, and you could see a hint of surprise as his brows rose.    
  
“My dad’s recipe,” You mumbled, “It’s always the best on cold nights. Good?”    
  
“Very good,” Horacio murmured. He slid his hand down to grasp yours where it was resting on the blanket. You raised your other hand, clasping his hand in both of yours. Horacio took another sip before he sighed and sank a little deeper back into the cushions.    
  
You usually didn’t do well with quiet; you were always tempted to say something, make small talk. But Horacio seemed to need quiet now, so you gave it to him. You smoothed your thumb along his knuckles, noted the roughness of his palm and fingers against yours. You did your best not to stare at him, but you let your eyes drift over his face now and again.    
  
“Better?” You finally asked, when some of the tension seemed to have dropped from Horacio’s shoulders, and the wrinkle unfurrowed from his brow.    
  
“Yes,” He mumbled, “Thank you.”    
  
You smiled a little bit, reaching up and running your hand through his hair.    
  
“Your hair’s dried, at least,” You said, smoothing back the strands you’d disrupted before your hand settled on the back of his neck.    
  
“... I don’t know what’s happened, and I’m not going to ask you to tell me, but… Stay? Please,” You tipped your head to the side as Horacio lowered his, “Your jacket’s probably still… Damp.”    
  
That seemed to amuse him, at least, and he turned to you, raising a brow.    
  
“I should spend the night because my jacket is damp?”    
  
“You should spend the night because I’m worried about you, but… But if the jacket is what cinches the argument, then yeah, it’s the jacket.”    
  
Horacio’s lips twitched into a small smile.    
  
“I take it the couch is still on offer?”    
  
“You said you wouldn’t be comfortable on the couch,” You reminded him.    
  
\--   
  
He was being very careful to keep to his side of the bed. You could see it in the way he was holding himself - shoulders pulled tight like they had been on the couch. You reached out, setting a hand on his shoulder.    
  
“Get some sleep, Horacio,” You murmured.   


\--

The both of you were awoken by the sound of your telephone ringing. You gently patted Horacio’s head where it had come to rest on your shoulder.    
  
“S’okay, it’s okay,” You mumbled before you rolled over, reaching out and picking up the receiving.   
  
“‘lo?” You mumbled.    
  
You only caught half of what Ray said at first; Horacio’s arms were curling around your waist, drawing you back against him, and he was pressing his face into the back of your neck.    
  
“What?” You asked Ray.    
  
“Take this address down!”    
  
The snapped command was muffled; he must’ve been smoking. You fumbled for the pen on your nightstand -- where was your notepad? Aw  _ hell _ . You hurried to jot the cross streets down on the inside of your forearm.    
  
“Now?” You asked.    
  
“Yes now!” Ray grumbled before he hung up. You sighed, tossing your pen on the bedside table before you glanced back at Horacio. How could you pry yourself out of this man’s arms now that you were finally in them?   


\--    
  
You’d told Horacio to stay. You weren’t sure he would, but god, you hoped so. You hated the way he’d blinked up at you sleepily when you’d told him that you had to leave. His hold had tightened around you before it had loosened, and his fingers had grasped at your sleep shirt still, even as you’d slid out of bed.   


\--

The rain had let up by the time you, Ray, and Gene finished filming. You hated to admit it, but the downpour had suited the story. You’d still thought that it could’ve waited til morning. But it had been monotonous.    
  
Until you’d been riding back. 

  
Medellín wasn’t particularly quiet any hour, but three in the morning didn’t have a bustling social scene in that part of the city. The story had taken you into a comuna that was known for its crime rate. Where you’d parked and where you’d wound up filming were somewhat far afield. By the time you’d reached your motorbike, you were more than aware of the man that had been following for the last few blocks. You threw your leg over your motorbike, foregoing the helmet. 

  
“* _ Bolso, ahora.”  _

  
You glanced in the direction of the man that had said so, even as you shoved the key into the ignition. You saw the flash of a knife out of your periphery, and heard him repeat, “ _Bolso, cabrona.”_   
  
You raised your hands slowly, in a show of compliance, before you quickly reached into the back of your jeans, pulling your gun out and firing at his feet.   
  
He cursed, staggering backward, and you seized your opportunity, turning the key and speeding off. Your grip on the handlebars was a little unsteady, the gun still in your hand. You didn’t look back until you were well out of the comuna; you didn’t stop your bike until you were on your own block. 

You’d doubled back a few times, made sure no one had followed you. You tucked your gun back into the back of your jeans, peering up at your apartment. There wasn’t a light on, so Horacio probably wasn’t up… If he was around.    
  
God, you hoped that he’d stayed.    
  
\--  
  
You moved around your apartment gingerly, taking your shoes off before you even stepped inside. You left your bag in the front hall, and went to hang up your coat on its usual hook - but it was occupied by Horacio’s. You bit your lip, reaching out and patting down the pockets lightly. You felt Horacio’s keys, and you let out a soft sigh of relief.    
  
You hung your jacket up beside his, avoiding the creaky spots on the way down the hall, into the bathroom. You flicked the light on and washed your hands before scrubbing off the address that you’d written down on your arm.    
  
_ That _ was when you noticed that your hands were shaking a bit. You hadn’t noted that before.    
  
You shut the water off and braced your hands on the sink, shoulders sagging a little. You were a little rattled, you just needed a moment. You took a deep breath and straightened up, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. Eyes bloodshot, hair a mess-- you looked harried, tired.    
  
You peered into the bedroom and saw Horacio laying in bed, sound asleep. You watched for a few moments, watching him turn his head in his sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest.    
You tucked your hands under your arms as you folded them across your chest.    
  
You were glad he’d stayed, but how was this any better than if he’d gone home alone?    
  
Horacio deserved someone that could be there for him through the night, not someone that ran off in the dark and scurried back in the early morning with the sound of gunfire still ringing in their ears. Horacio deserved someone  _ soft _ .    
  
You swore the muzzle of your gun was burning through your shirt.    
  
You pushed off of the door frame and walked back into your living room to clean up the leftover mugs of  _ canelazo. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday had put you at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a lovely week! 
> 
> *Prométeme - Promise me
> 
> **Prometo - I promise
> 
> Warnings: A lil fluff; a lil angst; canon-typical violence

It had seemed like it might be an easy Sunday at the start. Horacio had woken up sometime around seven. He was in bed alone, though. He heard sounds coming from down the hall, and he took a few moments to get himself together. He’d stripped down to his undershirt the night before, leaving his shirt hanging on your bed frame. He picked it up, folding it in his hands and walking down the hall.   
  
You were standing in the kitchen in front of your coffee maker. Your gun was tucked into the back of your jeans; he could see a sliver of your skin where your shirt had ridden up. You didn’t turn to look at him, even as you asked,   
  
“You sleep alright?”   
  
“Yes,” He answered, setting his shirt over the back of one of your chairs, “When did you get back?”   
  
“Few hours ago.”   
  
“Did you sleep?”   
  
“Mhm.”   
  
His brows rose.   
  
“Your side of the bed was cold.”   
  
“I got up to make coffee.”   
  
\-- 

That was bullshit; you’d gotten home around three that morning, sure, but you’d knocked out on the couch until 6:30. When you’d woken up, you’d needed coffee - a lot of coffee. You’d heard Horacio as he came down the hall.   
  
“What’re you doing with that?” You heard him ask.   
  
“With what?”   
  
You flinched when you felt him touch the gun still tucked into your jeans.   
  
“Ah-- Left it on the counter when I came in last night, just didn’t wanna leave it lying around while I made coffee,” You fibbed. You didn’t glance back at Horacio to see if he’d bought the excuse. You reached up, grabbing a couple of mugs from your cabinet.   
  
“If you want milk in your coffee, it’s in the fridge.” 

“No thank you,” Horacio murmured. You nodded, passing a mug over to him before pouring some coffee for yourself. The two stood in silence side by side at your counter for a little while. You glanced over at Horacio, finding him looking down into his mug.   
  
“...You wanna talk about last night?” You asked gently.   
  
“You mean your disappearing?” Horacio asked, turning to look at you. You lowered your eyes to the counter.   
  
“That was not what I meant.”   
  
“I was kidding, _patito_ ,” Horacio murmured.

“Right,” You nodded before taking a sip of your coffee.   
  
“The job last night went alright?”   
  
“Fine.”   
  
“You had no issues?”  
  
You’d fired one round at someone’s feet; whether or not the bullet made contact, you didn’t know, but frankly, you didn’t _want_ to know. What if you hadn’t been quick enough on the draw? What if he’d had a gun instead of a knife? What if your bike hadn’t started up?   
  
You swallowed all of those hypotheticals that had plagued your uneasy sleep with a gulp of coffee that burned on the way down, and answered,

“I’m here, aren’t I?”  
  
\-- 

You’d managed to unwind a little bit by the time you and Horacio arrived at Karina’s for dinner. You took your bike; he followed in his car. You were happy to be put to work in the kitchen, peeling potatoes and chatting with Fidelia, and forgetting what the warmth and weight of your gun had felt like. You’d left it at your apartment. You didn't need it at Karina’s; you didn’t want to bring that into her home.   
  
Horacio’s mood seemed to have lightened, too. He was in and out of the kitchen, helping Karina with errands, checking on Matías as the boy played in the street with his friends. Sunday had put you at ease. Dinner was delicious - at least what of it you got through. Your sat phone started ringing halfway through dinner.   
  
It was Ray, again, ruining another part of your weekend. You apologized to Karina and Fidelia, wished Matías good luck on the math test that he had the next day, and gave Horacio’s shoulder a squeeze before heading into the hall to get your things.   
  
You weren’t expecting Horacio to follow you.   
  
“I can go with you.”   
  
“What?” You asked, turning to look at him, “No, no stay here, finish dinner. I’ll be fine.”  
  
“You’re sure?”   
  
“Of course.”   
  
“You’ve got your gun?”   
  
“... Well-- No.”   
  
Horacio’s brow furrowed and you turned away him to pick up your jacket.   
  
“I wouldn’t bring a gun into your sister’s home,” You added quietly.   
  
“You’ll call once you’re home?” 

You were a little surprised at his tone; it was a request, not an order.   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“* _Prométeme_?”   
  
“ _**Prometo_ ,” You answered without hesitation.   
  
Horacio pushed a sigh out through his nose. You pulled your bag on, adding, “I’ll be fine, Horacio, honest.”   
  
\--   
  
“I’m so sorry I had to leave the other night,” You sighed into the phone.   
  
“It’s alright,” Karina excused, “Horacio said that you got home alright.”  
  
You felt your face warm at that. It was like Karina had tweaked your nose again.   
  
“I-- Yes, I did,” You cleared your throat, looking back down at the script you’d been marking up, “So what’s up? Do you need me to bring something this Sunday?”   
  
“No, no, it’s not that. I wanted to ask you a favor, though.”   
  
“Of course,” You put your pen down, raising your fingers and snapping to get Ray’s attention. He got up, crossing the room and taking the script you held out to him.   
  
“I need you to go and check on Horacio.”  
  
You stilled, brow furrowing, and Karina pressed on,  
  
“I wouldn’t ask you, _patito_ , but-- He’s been so busy lately, and he’s tired of me asking if he’s alright. He says he is, but he’s only humoring me.”   
  
“What makes you think he’d be any different with me?”   
  
“... _Patito_ , please. Check on him, for me?”   
  
You sighed, resting your forehead on your hand.   
  
“Where is he?” 

\--   
  
“What are you doing here?”   
  
It was certainly a warmer reception than the last time you’d gone to see him at work. You’d gone directly there after the station, and hadn’t called ahead to warn him that you’d be showing up. Horacio had risen from the desk and met you in the middle of the bullpen.   
  
“I was hoping I could practice with my gun a bit more,” You said, looking up at Horacio. Karina’s instincts were right; Horacio did look quite tired. You knew Horacio, you knew that he didn’t like to make his family worry.   
  
“Would you like assistance?” He asked.   
  
“If you’ve got time, but if you’re busy, I understand.”   
  
Horacio glanced back at his desk before saying, “Give me a few minutes.”   
  
“Sure.”   
  
You watched him walk back to his desk before glancing around. You caught the eye of one young man that was watching you, a man that you’d seen with Horacio at a number of busts. You gave him a small wave, and the man gave you a quick smile and a small nod before he lowered his head back to his work. 

\--  
  
“You’re flinching before you fire.”   
  
“Am I?”   
  
“Hm.”   
  
There was that sound again. And here you thought that you’d be free of it. You took a deep breath, releasing it slowly before firing again.   
  
“You’re still doing it, _patito_.”   
  
You lowered the gun, rolling your wrist.   
  
“You didn’t flinch before,” Horacio added.   
  
You glanced over to where he was leaning back against a table nearby, arms folded across his chest. He was frowning, calculating, trying to work out what had changed. You certainly weren’t leaping to have that conversation.   
  
“You look tired,” You diverted him. Horacio’s eyes narrowed.   
  
“That’s not polite.”   
  
“My mother has shed many a tear over my lack of manners… You look like you haven’t slept since Sunday,” You pressed before you turned back to the range, raised your gun and fired.  
  
“Flinched.”   
  
You scoffed, turning toward Horacio.   
  
“ _Stop_ that,” You groaned. He raised a hand in concession before folding his arm back over his chest. You lowered your gun, putting the safety on and walking over to where he was standing. You put the gun down on the table beside him, flexing your fingers. You glanced up at him. You knew that he had a certain attitude and stature to maintain at work, but the two of you were alone.   
  
“Talk to me,” You urged quietly.   
  
Horacio looked forward, eyeing the bullpen through the glass in the door. You knew that he had to maintain a certain countenance at work, and you didn’t expect that to change because he was there, but you were hoping he would at least talk to you a little.   
  
“The situation regarding the Medellín cartel has… Escalated significantly.”   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
“I spoke with him.”   
  
“Spoke with who?” You watched Horacio closely. He wouldn’t turn to look at you, and your mind went to the worst possible place.   
  
“Escobar?” You asked. Horacio gave a single nod. You turned to face him, even as he remained stalwart and stoic, facing away from you.   
  
“ _When_?” You pressed.   
  
“The night I came over.”   
  
“No wonder you were in such a fucking state... What’d he say? What’d _you_ say?”   
  
“It doesn’t matter, _patito_.”   
  
“Yes it does--”   
  
“Why? Are you reporting on it?” 

You were quiet for a few moments, brow furrowing before you shook your head a bit.   
  
“Don’t,” You said quietly, “Don’t shut me out like that.”   
  
You saw Horacio lower his head a little bit before he swallowed thickly.   
  
“Rehashing what was said won’t change anything. He needs to know he’s not invincible as he thinks he is.”   
  
“Are you alright?”   
  
“Fine.”   
  
“ _Horacio_.”   
  
“...When I’m here, I have to be.”   
  
You considered that for a few moments before you nodded.   
  
“Then come home with me again.”   
  
“And what?”   
  
“Be whatever you need to be.”   
  
Horacio didn’t answer for a few moments.   
  
“I’ll be here for a while longer,” he finally said, “But I’ll be by soon.”   
  
“ _Prométeme_?” You pressed. Horacio sighed, glancing down at you and murmuring,   
  
“ _Prometo._ ”

\--

You didn’t think you’d see Horacio that night.

That was why it was such a surprise when he was on your doorstep nearly an hour later.

“You hungry?” You asked, stepping aside to let him in.

“No.”

“...Horacio,” You stressed, leaning back against the wall. He glanced at you before shrugging out of his jacket and mumbling, “Yes.”

“Come on, I’m making empanadas.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were some nights when you didn’t have the energy to help him unwind the knots that he had tied around his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Canon-typical violence; minor character death; Horacio being a Worried Bean; some fluff
> 
> *Perdona, dónde está Coronel Carrillo? - Excuse me, where's Colonel Carrillo? 
> 
> **Con médico. Puedo llevarte allí. - With Medical. I can take you there.
> 
> ***Soy Trujillo - I'm Trujillo 
> 
> ****Es un gusto conocerlo - It’s nice to meet you
> 
> *****Y tú. Aquí. - And you. Here.

Horacio didn’t come over every night.    
  
The nights that he did, he often stayed, but not always. There were days he  _ did _ have to be up earlier than others, and he tended to have a hard time pulling himself out of bed if you were in it. If you did get a call in the middle of the night, he started to watch you get ready with sleepy eyes. There were some nights when he was still awake when you got home, depending on how long a job took. You’d always chastise him if he was, and he’d always grumble and ask you what had happened.    
  
You’d promise to tell him about it in the morning, and he’d let his eyes drift shut, knowing that you were safe beside him again. 

\-- 

You started to notice a pattern.    
  
Horacio spending the night was often the result of a particularly difficult day. His worries hung around his shoulders, but they weren’t as easy to shrug off as his jacket was. He was quiet as he came in, slow to open up to you about what had happened, if he opened up about it at all. There were days that Horacio didn’t tell you about, and you never knew if it wasn’t because he couldn’t, or because what he had seen or done was something he was determined to leave at your doorstep.    
  
There were some nights when you didn’t have the energy to help him unwind the knots that he had tied around his thoughts. You had some days that you wanted to leave at the door, too. Some nights, the two of you spent your time together quietly, like you were in a library and not your apartment. The two of you were light with one another, careful not to push. 

At least, you hadn’t pushed. 

One night, when you opened the door, Horacio was standing with his hands braced against the doorway and his eyes on the floor. You raised a brow. It wasn’t uncommon to find Horacio with his eyes downcast, but it was odd to find him physically bracing himself.    
  
“Are you alright?” You asked, dipping your head down to meet his eye. He straightened, nodding.   
  
“Did-- Did you come from work?” You added, looking him over. He wasn’t in his uniform - instead he was wearing a beige polo and a pair of khakis - a look that you’d seen at Karina’s a few times. You stepped back as he came into your apartment, shutting the door behind himself.    
  
“What’s going on?” You pressed, watching him shrug out of his jacket. His shoulders were up around his ears, still. He didn’t answer for a few moments before he shook his head, waving you off and stepping further into the apartment. You followed him into your kitchen, watching him reach into the fridge and pluck out two beers. He held one out to you questioningly and you shook your head, waving him off. He turned, putting one away again before he picked up your bottle opener. You leaned against the counter, watching him.    
  
“...Horacio,” You said softly. He turned his head to look at you, brow furrowed.    
  
“Talk to me,” You pressed. He sighed, lowering the beer to the counter and bracing himself against that as well. Your brow furrowed and you stepped closer to him, resting your hand between his shoulder blades.    
  
“...We got a tip from an informant,” He said after a few moments, “Peña wants to chase it down.”    
  
“I take it you don’t trust the informant.”    
  
“Peña does… I trust Peña,” Horacio said after a moment. You smiled a little. You’d been able to discern the fact that Horacio and Agent Peña were a fair bit closer than you’d initially thought. You hadn’t had any more interaction with the DEA agent since you’d interviewed him, but you heard about him from Horacio now and again.    
  
“But…?” You added.    
  
“But... “ He shook his head, “He takes these decisions so-- Lightly. He’s a  _ gringo _ . These aren’t his men, he doesn’t think about their children, their widows. All he cares about is putting the Narcos in jail.”    
  
“And you?”    
  
“Jail is too good for them.”    
  
You rubbed your hand between Horacio’s shoulders, nodding.    
  
“Horacio?”    
  
“Mm.”    
  
“This operation, the tip... When are you going?”    
  
“Soon.”    
  
You nodded, lowering your forehead to rest against his shoulder. You felt him shift and lifted your head as his arm curled around your waist. He typically showed you affection by taking hold of your hand or touching your shoulder; it was another thing for him to pull you in now, the way he did in the hazy moments between sleep and wakefulness.    
  
“Will you tell me before you go?” You asked, looking up at him. Horacio sighed, turning his head and brushing his lips against your forehead.    
  
“I can try, but the timing isn’t definite. Once we get confirmation, we’ll need to move quickly.”    
  
You closed your eyes, trying to push down your worry.    
  
“Alright,” You nodded a little bit, resigned. Horacio’s arm tightened around you.    
  
“I don’t get any warning before you go running off,” He grumbled. You rolled your eyes.    
  
“I’m not running after drug lords.”    
  
“No, just the messes they leave behind.”    
  
“We did do a story at your mother’s church last month. That was sicario-free, thank you.”    
  
\--   
  
You didn’t see Horacio for a few days after that.   
  
Typically that would be normal, but considering what he’d told you, it made you worry. You knew he was under a lot of stress, so you didn’t want to call and ask. You did call and chat with Karina. She mentioned that Horacio had stopped by her home the day before, and seemed ‘busy’. That wasn’t promising, but at least she’d seen him.    
  
\-- 

The radio silence finally became too much for you. Maybe it was overstepping your boundaries, but you drove over to the base.    
  
What you saw was not what you were expecting.    
  
The men were unloading munitions from trucks; some of their uniforms were streaked with blood. Panic flooded you as you began to look around for Horacio. You didn’t see him anywhere. You spotted the man you’d seen in the bullpen a few weeks before and hurried over to him.    
  
“* _ Perdona _ ,” You caught his attention, “ _ Dónde está Coronel Carrillo?” _ _  
_ _  
_ “ _ **Con médico. Puedo llevarte allí. _ ”    
  
The answer did nothing to stem the tide of panic and you nodded, muttering, “ _ Por favor.” _   
  
The man waved for you to follow, and you stuck close to his side, weaving through the throng of men. You didn’t dare ask what happened; you were sure the man couldn’t tell you anyway. You introduced yourself on your walk, and he gave a small nod. He seemed to have heard your name before.   
  
“*** _ Soy Trujillo _ .”    
  
You’d heard that name before.    
  
“**** _ Es un gusto conocerlo,”  _ You smiled at him a little.    
  
“***** _ Y tú. Aquí,” _ Trujillo pulled aside the tent flap for you.    
  
“ _ Gracias _ ,” You murmured, stepping inside.    
  
You stopped at the sight.    
  
Horacio’s shirt was dark with sweat; his front was mottled with first and sand. Most jarring of all was the streak of dried blood that had yet to be cleaned away from the doctor that was attending to a large wound on the left side of his forehead.    
  
You didn’t move, or say a word; for a few moments, you didn’t breathe. You weren’t sure you could.    
  
You’d asked him to call.    
  
You knew it was possible that he wouldn’t have been able -- clearly he hadn’t been, but--    
  
When you could breathe again, you took in a few deep ones to calm yourself. He didn’t need your worry; he clearly had had enough to contend with that day.   
  
You took a couple of steps forward as the doctor finished with him, eyed the bandage, the faint traces of blood that the doctor had failed to clean off of his handsome cheek, his throat. When Horacio saw you, he went still, too - eyes widening briefly at the sight, then narrowing. You held your hand out to stop whatever he was about to stay.    
  
“I’ll wait, and I’ll drive,” You said, voice quiet, but firm. You weren’t leaving without him, and he sure as hell wasn’t staying there all night, not after what you’d seen.    
  
\--    
  
You left your bike at the base. It felt odd, being in the driver’s seat with Horacio so quiet beside you. Now and again you glanced over to see if he’d fallen asleep, but he was wide awake, blinking through the dim of the streetlights and the headlights of oncoming cars.    
  
He only spoke up to give you directions like, “Turn here,” or, “Right, up ahead.” You drove to his apartment and followed him in. He didn’t say anything about it as you locked the door behind him, or as you took your shoes off, or left your bag in the front hall, or took off your jacket.    
  
“Hungry?” You asked. He shook his head. For once, you believed him. You didn’t know what had happened, what he had seen, what he’d done, but it didn’t seem like something he could leave on his doorstep.   
  
“...What happened?”    
  
“Gacha.”   
  
“...Good or bad?”    
  
“Gone.”    
  
You nodded, muttering, “Good, then.”    
  
Horacio nodded a little bit. You stepped closer to him and reached up, gently taking hold of his chin and turning his it to get a better look at the left side of his face.    
  
“You should get cleaned up-- the doctor missed a couple of spots.”   
  
The sight of the blood had bothered you all the way back to his place, but there had been nothing that you could do about it    
  
“And you need rest,” You added, lowering your hand. Horacio didn’t argue with your fussing, just lowered his eyes to the floor. You frowned, ducking your head a little to get a look at him.    
  
“Horacio?”    
  
“...I’ll go-- Please make yourself comfortable,” He added, turning away from you. You frowned, taking a couple of steps after him and stopping when he made no move to turn and look back at you. You frowned before you turned to look around the apartment. 

It was about the same size as yours, but there was a divide between his kitchen and small dining area. He had a couch, a television, and a couple of bookshelves in his living room. You stepped over to the shelves, smiling at the sight of the pictures of his family - Karina and Fidelia with Matías on his first day of school, Matías in his soccer uniform, Karina on her wedding day (Karina’s husband had been one of Carrillo’s friends and fellow officers at the base. He’d died the year before you’d come down to Medellín. Neither Karina nor Horacio spoke of him often, but you’d heard about him a bit from Matías). You frowned at the sight of one photo and picked the frame up, peering down at it.    
  
It was a picture of you and your brothers with the Carrillo siblings. God, you hadn’t seen yourself with that haircut since you were thirteen. You were certain you’d destroyed all photo evidence, but apparently you’d missed one. You smiled, setting the frame back down where it had been.    
  
And then you frowned at the sound of your sat phone.    
  
“No, no no no, not now,” You muttered, running back into the front hall and rifling through your bag.    
  
“Hello?” You asked, pressing the phone to your ear and straightening up.    
  
“Hey,” Ray answered, “So we got a tip - unconfirmed, but I thought I’d reach out to you for a read on it.”    
  
“Okay?”    
  
“Someone down here at the station heard a rumor that they killed Gacha.”   
  
“...Gacha?” You repeated, wary.    
  
“Yeah, up in...Tula?”    
  
“Tolú?” You corrected, rolling your eyes.    
  
“Whatever. Think we should go check it out?”    
  
“...Tolú’s a 10 hour drive, Ray. You seriously think you could get Gene to sit still that long without him reaching over to take the rearview to check his hair every three minutes?”    
  
“ Okay, but if we’re  _ right _ , if we break this--”   
  
“And if we’re  _ wrong _ ? If Gacha’s not dead and someone at the station was just talking shit? Look, if it’s unconfirmed, Ray, we shouldn’t be chasing it down. Especially not something that big at that distance.”    
  
Ray was quiet for a few seconds on the other end before he grumbled, conceding to your point. You nodded a bit to yourself, relieved.    
  
“Look, I’m-- Don’t call me unless you absolutely have to, alright?” You asked.    
  
“What?” Ray scoffed, incredulous.    
  
“It’s a long story, but I don’t have my bike--”    
  
“Are you alright? You get mugged? Did someone steal it--”    
  
“Yes,” You latched onto that. It was an easier lie than the truth. If Ray found out that you were with the man that had taken down the lead you’d just told him not to chase, you’d never hear the end of it, “It’ll be a little harder for me to canvas areas. I know it’s an inconvenience, and I’m sorry.”   
  
Ray sighed heavily on the other end, muttering, “You got that fuckin’ right,” Before hanging up.    
  
You lowered the phone from your ear, leaning back against the wall and looking down at your sat phone.    
  
“...It’s confirmed,” You heard. You didn’t have to look up to know that Horacio was standing at the mouth of the hall - his voice was so close, and you could smell his soap. You recognized the scent now.    
  
“Not to the press.”    
  
“I gave you confirmation.”    
  
“...Yeah, well. I’m not at work right now,” You retorted, tucking your phone back into your bag and turning to face him. He had changed out of his uniform, into more comfortable clothing. His shirt collar was a little askew. You walked back to him and reached up, straightening it carefully.    
  
“Do you need anything?” You asked, eyeing the bandage on his head. He didn’t respond to that; he was frowning at you, brow furrowed.    
  
“You can take my car, if you have a story to cover.”    
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” You said simply, “Now do you need--”    
  
“I can have someone bring your bike--”    
  
“Do you want me to leave?” You asked. His brow furrowed further.    
  
“Of course not.”    
  
“Then stop talking like that.”    
  
You stepped around him, heading for his kitchen. Water. He should probably have some water - and if he didn’t drink it, you would.    
  
“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” He argued.    
  
“I won’t. Ray may gripe, but he won’t say anything to our boss. He owes me more than I can count.”   
  
“If that changes--”    
  
“Horacio,” You sighed, shaking your head, “I’m not worried about that, alright? I don’t give a shit, I really don’t. And I don’t want you worrying about it, either. You need to go sit down, you need to rest--” You vaguely registered the padding footfalls of Horacio crossing the kitchen, “And don’t even try to tell me that you don’t, I heard the doctor telling you that you did--”    
  
He was moving you before you could really register it - an arm wrapped around your front, his hand clutching at your hip to turn you away from (what you had realized was) the (wrong) cabinet (you’d been looking for cups and had found plates, but sue you, this wasn’t your kitchen, you didn’t know where things  _ were _ ); before you could say a word about being turned, his other hand was curling tenderly against the side of your neck and his lips were pressing against yours.    
  
For a few seconds, you were as still and as shocked as you had been in the medical tent. This was different, though. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, but fuck, you didn’t want to. You wanted to hold there and hang onto that moment forever.    
  
When you managed to regain a modicum of sense, to convince yourself that this wasn’t a daydream that you’d had a hundred times, you let your eyes drift shut and reached up, cradling Horacio’s cheeks tenderly with your hands. The hand that stopped on your hip curled around to smooth up your back, fingers splaying wide, drawing you closer to him. Your lips slipped warmly over his in sweet, unhurried passes. You were mindful of his wound, letting your hands settle on his shoulders, rather than sliding them up into his hair like you wanted to.    
  
Horacio leaned away from you, and you couldn’t help your leaning up to chase his lips for another peck. He gave it to you, and then another. He sighed, resting his unbandaged temple against yours and brushing your cheeks together.    
  
“...Don’t think that this gets you out of resting,” You mumbled. He chuckled, the sound soft and warm near your ear, and you shivered a little, even as he rubbed his hand over your back.    
  
“Of course,  _ patito _ ,” He murmured.    
  
“...Horacio?”    
  
“Mm?”    
  
“Where do you keep your cups?” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horacio watched you as you worked with almost military efficiency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! 🥳
> 
> Warnings: Fluff? Mentions of a wound; cursing

Horacio kept his mugs in the oddest place.   
  
Well, odd in your opinion, anyway. What was the point of keeping your mugs in any cabinet that wasn’t directly over your coffee maker? You made it a point not to bicker with him on where he kept his cups, at least not now. The man was resting, recovering from a head wound and a hellish day. You hadn’t slept well, having spent most of the night between sleep and wakefulness, worried that Horacio might wake up in pain or needing something.    
  
He seemed to sleep soundly, at least. You’d propped his head up a little extra on a blanket and he'd slept on his right side to avoid jostling the bandage on his left. You’d curled up behind him, making it impossible for him to roll over onto his bad side. You’d gotten up before he had, though, and gone into his kitchen to make some coffee for the both of you, and...Fretted over where he kept his mugs, a little. And thought about the way that he had kissed you, a  _ lot _ .    
  
While you’d been hopeful that Horacio might somehow share your feelings, you hadn’t realized…    
  
“Is any of that mine?”    
  
Horacio’s voice pulled you from your reverie.    
  
“No. I’m going to drink an entire pot of coffee myself,” You retorted, glancing over your shoulder. You smiled at the sight of Horacio, a little sleep-ruffled as he shuffled into the kitchen.    
  
“How’s your head feel?” You asked, leaning against the counter and watching him.    
  
“It hurts, a little.”    
  
“As in a headache or the…” You trailed off, waving a finger in the direction of the bandage on his forehead. Horacio raised his finger, mimicking your movement. You nodded a bit.    
  
“I assume you’ve painkillers? Or should I run out and get some?”    
  
“I have some.”    
  
“Alright. And we should change your bandages out--”    
  
“Are you always like this?” Horacio asked, amused, grasping your hips gently, “How have I never noticed?”    
  
“Well, usually Matías is asking all of the questions,” You teased. You reached up, resting your hands on either side of Horacios’ neck as he leaned down for a kiss. You pecked his lips gently before you leaned away.    
  
“Did you sleep alright?” You lowered a hand, letting it drift over his chest.    
  
“I slept well, thank you. Did you?” Horacio asked. You nodded a little, eyes darting to the bandage on his forehead.    
  
“We should take care of that sooner than later,” You commented. 

“We should,” Horacio agreed, “Before it drives you crazy.”    
  
\--   
  
Of course, it didn’t drive you any  _ less _ crazy, gently peeling away the gauze and medical tape to reveal the gash in Horacio’s forehead. There wasn’t much to clean; the wound wasn’t so long that it needed stitches. You picked up and alcohol swab from Horacio’s first aid kit and ripped the small packet open. 

\--    
  
Horacio watched you as you worked with almost military efficiency. He was careful not to wince as you cleaned away the bit of blood that had dried around the wound after it had been bandaged the day before. He chose instead to focus on the warmth of the hand that you’d used to cup his cheek, steadying his head. He’d settled on a chair at his kitchen table; you’d set his first aid kit on the table, and were standing beside him as you tended to the wound on his head.    
  
He waited until you’d disposed of the alcohol swab to rest a hand on your thigh, and smiled when he caught a slight stutter in your movements. You glanced down at him before you reached for the medical tape and a fresh packet of gauze from his first aid kit.    
  
“We should get some food in you,” You commented to him as you cut a few short, neat strips of tape, “And you should rest.”    
  
“Will you stay?” He asked quietly as you began to tape the gauze down, careful not to press the tape down against his hair where you could avoid it. You glanced down, meeting his eye for a few seconds before plucking up another piece of tape.    
  
“If you’re not sick of me bossing you around by the time you’re done with breakfast,” You teased, but he could hear the edge of apprehension in your voice. He waited until you had finished taping the gauze down before he asked,    
  
“Satisfied?”    
  
When you’d nodded, and before you could turn away fully to put away the first aid kit, Horacio pulled you down to sit across his lap, his arm wrapping securely around your middle.    
  
“I think it’d be quite impossible for me to become sick of you,  _ patito _ ,” he murmured. You smiled, reaching up and smoothing back his hair.    
  
“Mm, you say that now--”    
  
“And I mean it,” He insisted.   
  
\--    
  
You nodded, looping an arm around Horacio’s shoulder and allowing your fingers to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.    
  
“What do you want to eat?” You asked, rather than tease Horacio any more. His mood was in the way of something a little softer, a little more serious that morning. Horacio didn’t answer for a few moments, instead nuzzling into your neck and tightening his grip on you. Getting up to cook was going to be difficult indeed.    
  
“I’ll eat anything,” He finally murmured. You smiled.    
  
“If you’re still tired, you can get back in bed. I’ll bring breakfast in?”    
  
Horacio shook his head a little.    
  
“...Are you going to let me up?”    
  
“In a minute.”    
  
You grinned, turning your head and dropping a tender kiss to his hair. 

\--  
  
“What’s going on?”    
  
“Confirmation. Gacha’s dead,” Ray’s voice crackled over your sat phone. This was something that you already knew, of course.    
  
“What’d the boss say?” You asked. Ray sighed heavily from the other end.    
  
“That driving out to where it happened would’ve been a hell of an expense and a waste,” He grumbled. You smiled a little.    
  
“You should grab your camera and go to that uh-- That really shitty apartment they put Gene in his first month. The woman that lived downstairs from him told me that she used to be Gacha’s tailor back before he made it big. I’m sure she’s got some stories.”    
  
Ray grunted on the other end.    
  
“I should be able to get around the city by tomorrow morning,” You added.    
  
“Fine,” Was Ray’s succinct answer before he hung up. You tucked your sat phone back into where it had been in your bag when you’d heard it ringing. You took a moment in Horacio’s front hall, bracing your hand against the wall and pulling in a deep breath. You’d been worried that whatever was going to be on the other end was going to draw you away too soon.    
  
“You can take my car,” were Horacio’s first words to you as you came back to the couch.    
  
“Ray was just checking in,” You shook your head as you settled down beside him, “I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”    
  
Horacio snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you back into his side.    
  
“Alright then,” You laughed, “The car can stay where it is.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While you’d made a few other friends in Medellín, the Carrillos were people that you felt safest with - you practically considered them family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone's having a good week! 💖
> 
> Warnings: Cursing, canon-typical violence, mentions of a plane explosion, some angst
> 
> *Truthfully? I’m afraid to say

Over the next couple of weeks, you saw Horacio daily for at least a few minutes. You’d mostly go over to check on him, see how his head was doing. You’d gotten your bike back from the base, had gone back from work, but having your time filled didn’t stop you from worrying about him throughout the day.  
  
When you’d arrived at Karina’s on Sunday, you’d been in a good mood - you’d spent the previous night at Horacio’s, uninterrupted by either of your jobs. It was fairly rare that the both of you got to sleep through the night these days. You’d told Karina that you were in a good mood because you’d gotten a good night’s sleep. You weren’t sure if Horacio had mentioned the fact that the two of you had begun to see one another more seriously, and you didn’t want to bring it up to her without knowing for sure.  
  
You were also a little apprehensive about her and Fidelia finding out. While you’d made a few other friends in Medellín, the Carrillos were people that you felt safest with - you practically considered them family. You weren’t sure if this shift in your and Horacio’s relationship might strain something or change how they saw you, and you weren’t eager to find out.  
  
But once Horacio arrived, Karina began to give you these...Looks. You weren’t sure why, frankly. You didn’t think that your demeanor had changed; you were certain Horacio was regarding you as he always had. You helped Fidelia and Karina in the kitchen as you usually did; Horacio sat with Matías to help with homework that Karina hadn’t been able to help him with.  
  
The looks weren’t open stares, either - they were little sly ones, out of the corner of Karina’s eye, like she was checking to see if you were doing the same. It had you questioning whether or not Horacio maybe _had_ said something to his sister, and she was waiting for you to tell her and Fidelia. It also made you _very_ wary of looking at Horacio, and you avoided it for most of the evening (which was unfortunate, because you liked looking at Horacio).  
  
\--  
  
“Is everything alright?” Horacio asked as the two of you stepped into your apartment.  
  
“Of course, why?” You looked back at him as you shrugged out of your jacket.  
  
“You hardly spoke at dinner.”  
  
“Your sister was watching me like a hawk.”  
  
Horacio’s brows furrowed, and yours rose as you laughed.  
  
“You can’t tell me you didn’t notice,” You added, turning to go into the kitchen, “I mean, she was being a _little_ sneaky about it, but, like, barely.”  
  
You reached into the fridge, grabbing two beers and holding one up for Horacio to see. He nodded as he pulled his own jacket off, and you hip-checked the fridge door shut, setting the bottles down on the counter.  
  
“What reason would she have to stare at you?” Horacio frowned as he came into the kitchen after you. You shrugged as you opened the beers.  
  
“I mean… Did you tell her…?” You trailed off as you nudged one toward him.  
  
“About us? I haven’t mentioned it. Have you?”  
  
“I wasn’t sure if you had, so I haven’t.”

The both of you stood in that for a moment. Was it odd that neither of you had mentioned it to anyone?  
  
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Horacio finally said, leaning back against your counter and picking up his beer, “Karina likes to make trouble.”  
  
You considered that as you looked down at the counter. Horacio’s hand cupped your jaw, tipping your head back up to look at him.  
  
“What’s troubling you?” He asked softly. You shook your head a little, careful not to dislodge his hand.  
  
“No, nothing.”  
  
He looked unconvinced, but he didn’t push it. You gave him a small smile and leaned up, pecking his lips. 

\-- 

“We gotta move-- we gotta move _now_!” Ray yelled across the office, waving you back toward the elevator that you’d just stepped off of. You took a few steps backward, facing him still and taking in the sight of a few harried coworkers.  
  
“What’s going on?”  
  
“A Boeing 727 exploded.” 

\-- 

“Agent Peña?” You asked.  
  
The man turned away from the coffee cart he was in line for.  
  
“Hey there,” He nodded to you, and you smiled a little bit.  
  
“How have you been?” You asked, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.  
  
“I wish I could say better, but…” He trailed off, and you nodded, understanding.  
  
“Yeah,” You said quietly, “It’s been a crazy couple of days.”  
  
The two of you inched forward as the line moved.  
  
“Your _friend_ and I visited with the girlfriend of the guy that took the fall,” Javier told you, shaking his head, “She’s refusing to give us any information. You should see the place-- Escobar shit all over the place, like the man’s fuckin’ god.”  
  
You frowned. Horacio hadn’t told you that-- but you hadn’t seen him the day before.  
  
“Where is this woman?” You asked lightly. Javier gave you a look over the tops of his yellow-tinted Aviators.  
  
“What’re you gonna give me if I tell you?” He asked, his grin on the friendly side of flirty.  
  
“I’ll buy your coffee.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
\--  
  
Natalie wouldn’t talk to you. Her mother was another story -- but she didn’t want to show her face. You told her that that was fine, that you could find ways around that, and would mask her voice, too. She agreed, for a small sum. You could see that it pained her to be saying yes at all, but you also saw the way that her eyes darted to the crying baby being cradled by her daughter.  
  
Gene threw softball questions - if she knew where her daughter’s boyfriend was, how long they’d been together, if she liked the boy for her daughter, if he was a hard worker, whether she was worried about him, if she’d ever met Escobar. Finally, Gene asked her if she thought Escobar was being the Avienca bombing. There was a long moment between the question before the woman answered, “* _Verdad? Tengo miedo de decirlo._ ”

\--  
  
Horacio was waiting for you at your apartment by the time you arrived.  
  
“Sorry,” You yawned as you unlocked your door, “We hit on a lead last-minute-- I couldn’t call. You okay?”  
  
You stepped inside first, kicking your shoes off and nearly missing the hook as you hung your jacket up.  
  
“It’s this… Avianca business,” Horacio answered, shutting the door behind himself. You watched him take his own jacket off, eyeing his uniform before you lightly waved him closer to you. Horacio sighed, wrapping his arms around you and drawing you close. You closed your eyes as you curled your arms around his shoulders, sliding one hand up his neck and thumbing the nape of his neck.  
  
“I’m sorry,” You murmured, “I know the last couple of days have been crazy for you.”  
  
Horacio didn’t answer, just give you a gentle squeeze before he leaned away.  
  
“They seem to have been quite busy for you as well,” He pointed out, eyes searching your face. You grunted, turning and stepping out of his arms.  
  
“You hungry? I’m starving,” You diverted.  
  
“A little,” Horacio admitted. You nodded, looking into your fridge for something quick to make.  
  
“Any leads?” You asked, glancing over at Horacio. He shook his head a little.  
  
“There’s one girl, but… She’s lying to us. It’s either fear or she doesn’t want to give up this illusion of the _Paisa Robin Hood_.”  
  
You thought back to the picture of Escobar as Christ in their little apartment.  
  
“I’ll say. That picture,” You turned, imitating the pose, “Yikes.” 

Horacio watched you closely as you put a container of leftovers on the counter.  
  
“Alright, if we have _gringo_ food for dinner, are you gonna pitch a fit--”  
  
“How do you know about the picture?”  
  
You glanced over at Horacio before you shrugged, “I saw it.”  
  
“When.”  
  
“A few hours ago. Is that a yes or a no on lasagna?”  
  
“Why were you there?”  
  
“I’ll give you three guesses,” You teased before you opened the tupperware.  
  
“This isn’t a joke,” Horacio said sharply, and you lowered your hands to the counter, stunned at the tone he was taking.  
  
“What difference does it make that I saw the picture? So did you.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have gone there.”  
  
“ _You_ went there. I was doing my job.”  
  
“What if his sicarios were there? What if they saw you and the rest of your fucking _gringo_ team? It’s not safe for you.”  
  
“And what you do is safe all the time? Don’t be a fucking hypocrite, Horacio,” You turned away from him, stepping over to the microwave and setting the tupperware inside before shutting the door. You turned it on before folding your arms, ignoring as Horacio took a couple of steps closer.  
  
“It is _my_ job to go after Escobar,” He said lowly.  
  
“And it is my job to go where the news is. It’s going to be dangerous sometimes,” You turned your head to look up at him, “That’s just a fact.”  
  
“I don’t want you going down there again.”  
  
You scoffed.  
  
“I’ll run your concerns by my boss. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear that I need you to sign my permission slip signed before I can do my job.”  
  
You saw Horacio’s jaw clench before you watched him turn away from you. You didn’t follow, just braced your hands back against the counter and winced when you heard the front door click shut behind him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horacio heeded your reassurances - at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone’s having a good week! 💖
> 
> Warnings: Cursing, canon-typical violence, mentions of bombings, but no graphic descriptions
> 
> *Cariño, te lo ruego. - Sweetheart, I'm begging you.

Horacio didn’t stay away long. He knocked on your door again a few minutes later. His jaw was clenched tight, and he was irritated, but he didn’t start the fight back up. He just sat down at your table, murmured his thanks when you set a plate of food down in front of him. The two of you ate in silence, cleaned up without a word.   
  
\--   
  
You felt Horacio hovering by you as you put the dishes away from dinner.   
  
“...Is it so wrong that I want to keep you safe?” He asked quietly. You sighed, shaking your head and turning to look at him.   
  
“It’s not the _want_ , Horacio. It’s the way you say it. You gotta understand that I--”   
  
“I know, I know,” Horacio nodded, lowering his head. You reached out, squeezed his shoulder.   
  
“Let’s not talk about this anymore tonight, please.”   
  
Horacio nodded and shuffled closer to you. Glancing up, you took in the pout, the furrow of his brow. He reminded you of a chastened toddler.   
  
“Why don’t you go shower, get ready for bed,” You added, “I’ve uh...I’ve got some more neatening up to do.”   
  
\-- 

The two of you didn’t talk about it anymore. But you knew that he was thinking about it. It was in the way that he tensed when Karina or Fidelia asked you about work; the way that he still trailed you home from their homes. It was in the way he’d wait for you after work sometimes, or ask for you to call him when you got home, if he had a particularly late night at the office.   
  
You knew that Horacio had his reasons for being worried. He’d seen who knows how many people lost to violence, and your job put you in the direct line of the same violence. But you justified it to yourself with the fact that you were simply _following_ the action, you weren’t right in the middle of it.   
  
And then the bombings started. 

\-- 

You’d done what you could to talk your station manager out of it - you were _middlemen_ , not spokespeople. You refused to put your mics in the hands of the people that were hurt, only just pulled from the rubble. But your station manager had said that you needed to be right there - as soon as it happened, if possible.   
  
It had you zipping across town with ambulances, policemen, firefighters.   
  
You found yourself unable to quiet your mind. You were constantly on-edge, even when you and Horacio were just together, sitting on the couch or laying in bed.   
  
You had to put your foot down, and offered your boss a deal - the team stopped covering the bombings with immediacy if you got an interview about them with President Garivia. 

\--  
  
“You haven’t brought a pack of cigarettes to bribe me with this time?” The question was dry, but his lips quirked into a small smile when you pulled a fresh pack out of your pocket.   
  
“The correct brand as well,” Gaviria took them from you, looking them over, “What would you like to ask me?”   
  
\--

“You interviewed the president?”   
  
The question was asked harshly through the phone. You frowned, eyes scanning as you considered why this might’ve upset Horacio.   
  
“Yes. It was a deal I made with my boss-- It’ll keep the team away from the bombings as soon as they’ve happened.”   
  
Horacio sighed heavily on the other end of the line, and you tipped our head back, scanning the ceiling for some kind of answer.   
  
“I thought you would’ve been pleased. I know how much you’ve hated me going after those.”   
  
“I have-- I am, but-- _Patito,”_ Horacio lowered his voice, “Escobar has been even more sharp in his criticisms of the president and the media lately. This will put a target on your back.”   
  
You were quiet for a moment.   
  
“There was already one there, Horacio. We’re _gringos_ , he hates us.”   
  
Horacio was quiet for a few moments.   
  
“Are you at the office?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“I’ll escort you home.”   
  
“Horacio--”   
  
“Please.”   
  
“...Alright. Call when you’re outside.”   
  
“Thank you.”   
  
“Be careful.”   
  
“You, too.”   
  
\--

And then the kidnappings started. 

If you thought Horacio had been a mother hen before, you’d never seen the man so frustrated. He stopped just short from asking if you could do your job from your apartment. You’d reassured him, told him that they were _clearly_ going after people that had some kind of influence in the country, and you certainly weren’t one of them.   
  
\--   
  
Horacio heeded your reassurances - at first. He knew that you were taking certain precautions, carried your gun with you. And once he’d managed to shake the image of a wall collapsing on you in the aftermath of one of the blasts, he’d managed to quiet his mind a _little_ bit, for a little while.   
  
“She’s got a good head on her shoulders, _Horacito_ ,” Karina reassured him softly. He nodded a little, watching where you and Fidelia were in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for that Sunday’s dinner.   
  
“So, how have you two...Been?” She added.   
  
Horacio frowned, turning to look at his sister.   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
His sister gave him a _look_ , and he tacked on, “Did she tell you something?”   
  
Karina laughed, shaking her head.   
  
“Neither of you had to. I know my brother,” She reached out, pinching his cheek, and he wrinkled his nose, leaning out of her grasp, “You started looking after her like a lovesick school boy. And she started getting quiet around you, too, like she was trying not to say the wrong thing.”   
  
Horacio grunted softly, leaning back in his seat and staring into his glass. Karina rolled her eyes.   
  
“There’s nothing wrong with loving, _Horacito_.”   
  
“No… But she puts herself in enough danger without knowing me.”   
  
“You say that like knowing you puts her in any more danger. She’s perfectly capable of looking after herself.”   
  
“I know that, Karina.”   
  
“Then stop acting like she’s some piece of porcelain and start treating her like she’s your woman.” 

\-- 

And Horacio had every intention of following his sister’s advice, until Diana Turbay was kidnapped.   
  
\--   
  
“Her entire crew was gunned down-- You don’t even _travel_ with yours--”   
  
“I’m not a former president’s daughter,” You groaned, eyeing the Search Bloc member that had introduced himself as Martinez when you’d left your apartment that morning, “Horacio, honestly, I don’t know what you’re thinking. You’re really telling me that this man can do better work shadowing me to and from work than he can with the rest of the Search Bloc? You need all the help you can get.”   
  
“Do not send him back--”   
  
“Or what?”   
  
“* _Cariño_ , _te lo ruego._ ”   
  
Your breath caught in your throat, and you went quiet for a moment. It was the first time Horacio hadn’t addressed you by your first name, or by _Patito_. He sounded so conflicted, the words a spike coated in honey.   
  
“...I”ll feel better if I know he’s there,” Horacio added. You scrubbed your hand across your forehead before you nodded.   
  
“Alright,” You muttered, “Alright.”   
  
“Thank you.”   
  
“...Be careful, Horacio. Please.”   
  
“I will be.”   
  
“ _Prométeme_.”

“ _Prometo_.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You had learned more about yourself - about what you were capable of, about hardening your heart when need be - in your time in Medellín.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cursing, mentions of canon-typical violence, but no graphic descriptions
> 
> I hope everyone’s having a good week! 💖

There was no real way to know whose gun fired the bullet that killed Diana Turbay, but Horacio hung the weight of that outcome around his shoulders the way Atlas bore the world. When he was at home, his head was often hung, his eyes downcast. When he spoke, it was to ask you for something, or to ask how you were doing. You were worried for him, but you couldn’t tell him that, couldn’t add another weight to the things that already pushed Horacio down. He would brighten for you when he could, and put on a brave face for Matías, and his mother and sister.   
  
But when he’d told you what had happened, and as he’d asked you to continue to allow Martinez to shadow you at work, you’d seen the edge to him - that worried little edge that said, ‘ _What if it had been you?_ ’

You took to staying at Horacio’s apartment - told Ray to call you on your sat phone going forward. He didn’t care enough to ask about your personal life, took the direction as it was given. But as soon as your tenancy at his apartment had started, Horacio seemed to steer for it to stop. 

\-- 

It had always been the biggest point of contention between the two of you, your safety. And on some days, it warmed you, how badly Horacio wanted to keep you safe. Other days, it irked you to no end. You weren’t some helpless toddler, some innocent character that was just barely managing to make her way through the world. You had learned more about yourself - about what you were capable of, about hardening your heart when need be - in your time in Medellín.   
  
There was something in the way Horacio regarded you - and Martinez when he dropped you off at Horacio’s door that evening. Horacio took hold of your hand, leading you over to the couch and settling you down. You watched him closely as he stared down at your hands. You knew that this couldn’t be good news. While some of the Turbay tragedy had begun to lift from him, he was still grappling with it, and with the harshness of his job daily. The news of Escobar’s deal, his own jail, hadn’t made things any easier. You weren’t sure _what_ to expect.   
  
But you certainly hadn’t expected, “The Search Bloc is being disbanded.”   
  
Concern bolted through - concern for Horacio, for his men. This was a death sentence for certain of them, for those that Escobar could get to easily.   
  
“I’m sorry,” You shook your head, covering his hand with yours, “What’ll you do?”   
  
Horacio swallowed thickly, and you could see him ramping up for something else - something that seemed like it would be worse than the loss of his position and his life being in danger.   
  
“It won’t be safe for you to be around me,” Was what he said. What he left unsaid, what you _heard_ was, _You won’t be able to handle it_. Irritation curdled in your stomach, and you bit the inside of your cheek.   
  
“Is that so,” You asked flatly, “I was unaware that you were the country’s safest man to be around previously. This’ll be an awful drop in that status.”   
  
“Don’t make fun,” Horacio said icily, and you jerked your hands away from his, standing from the couch and beginning to pace around his living room. You pointedly avoided looking at the photos on his bookshelves, feeling as though they were all staring you down as well.   
  
“Are you not constantly telling me that my job is risky?” You reminded him.   
  
“Yes, but--”   
  
“No, Horacio, no _buts_ , not this time,” You stopped, folding your arms over your chest, “I will be in the line of some fire, regardless of whether or not I’m around you.” A second reason came to mind, and you frowned.   
  
“If…” You steeled yourself, resolving yourself to keep your gaze fixed on Horacio, “If you don’t want this-- if you don’t want _me_ , that’s one thing, but don’t hide the reason behind Escobar.”   
  
Horacio’s face twisted with shock and disbelief as he rose from his couch.   
  
“Don’t you dare--”   
  
“No! Don’t you dare!” You snapped, “You think his jail is going to stop the danger, the jobs that drag me out of bed at night? Those walls, that fence-- It’s _bullshit_. You know as well as I do that it changes nothing.”

Horacio’s chest heaved as he took a deep breath, hands unclenching from fists as he averted his eyes to the window.   
  
“...I’m not sure if that’s reassured me,” He mumbled. You shook your head.   
  
“You understand that my job will still be what it’s been?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“Then we’re on the same page.”   
  
Horacio shook his head, lowering his chin to his chest, and you sighed, unfolding your arms and stepping closer to him and rubbing your hands over his shoulders.   
  
“You have to understand, my love, tucking me away from the world or-- Or keeping me away from _you_ … it wouldn’t solve a thing. It would just hurt the both of us, and it wouldn’t keep me any more safe.”   
  
Horacio was quiet for a moment before you heard him mumble, “Say it again.”   
  
You frowned, “Hm?”   
  
“Say it again.”   
  
You thought for a moment before you smiled a little bit.   
  
“My love?” You murmured. Horacio’s hands slipped around your back as he leaned down, pressing his face against your neck. You closed your eyes at the feeling of his lips skimming hot and sweet over your skin.   
  
“My love,” You repeated in a whisper. His hands clutched at the fabric of your shirt, dragging it up and tugging it from where you’d neatly tucked it in. You slipped a hand into his hair and gave it a tug, drawing his head up to kiss him properly. He responded with bruising force, his tongue sliding between your lips as you gasped. You slid a hand down to rest on his chest, steering him down the hall.   
  
“ _Cariño_ ,” He mumbled as the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. You shushed him, straddling his lap and reaching down to undo the buttons of his uniform shirt.   
  
“No more talking, _mi amor_ ,” You murmured, “Please.” 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Escobar’s prison nearly completed, your station was certain things would quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone’s having a good week! 💖
> 
> Y’all! There’s only one more chapter after this!!
> 
> *Sinceramente? - Honestly?  
> **“Estoy bien, mi alma. - I’m fine, my soul.  
> ***Qué lío - What a mess.
> 
> Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sexual situations, mentions of canon-typical violence, but no graphic descriptions

With the two of you at a better place of understanding, and with the Search Bloc disbanded, you and Horacio developed a new system. If he was doing something he considered particularly dangerous, he would ask you to return to your apartment that night. You didn’t ask for details, though you itched for them. He never came by afterward, would simply call once he’d returned home or to the office to confirm with you that he was in one piece.   
  
There were some nights where he’d reach you on your sat phone, would ask you where you were going, and the heavy pause on the other end of the phone would tell you that you would be arriving whatever he’d left behind. His presence at Karina’s on Sunday’s became as scant as when he first had clearance to monitor Escobar at all times - he was just as tired now as he was then.  
  
“You’re running yourself ragged, my love,” You murmured, running yourself through Horacio’s hair. He hummed softly, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your stomach.   
  
“I’m worried about you,” You added. Horacio made no answer still, just took hold of your hand, intertwining your fingers. You sighed quietly, letting your head fall back onto his pillows.   
  
“ _Cariño_ …”   
  
“Mm?”   
  
You glanced at him as he shifted to kneel over you. You let your eyes wander him for a moment before you raised you met his gaze again.   
  
“If things changed tomorrow, for better or for worse…”   
  
You frowned, pushing yourself up onto your elbows as you watched Horacio consider his next words.  
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
“I mean if we woke up and Escobar was gone. I don’t mean in his jail, I mean…”   
  
“Hypothetically, if he just,” You raised your other hand and snapped your fingers. Horacio nodded once before he asked, “What would you do?”   
  
You considered this for a moment, tipping your head to the side.   
  
“I don’t know,” You admitted, “I don’t know if I’d still have a job.”   
  
“Would that be your only reason to stay?”   
  
Your expression softened, and you pushed yourself to sit up.   
  
“Of course not, my love. But it would be a consideration.”   
  
Horacio looked down at your joined hands, and you watched his face, searching for any hint, any idea of what he may be thinking. You couldn’t get a read on him.   
  
“What would you do?” You asked when he didn’t say anything. 

_*“Sinceramente?_ ”   
  
You nodded when his eyes flitted to your face.   
  
“Drag you to bed for a few days.”   
  
You broke out into a laugh, unable to help it at his unexpected answer.   
  
“Be _serious_ ,” You whined as Horacio leaned in, burying his face in your neck and mouthing over a few marks he’d left.   
  
“No,” The words were mumbled, muffled against your skin, “I’ve had enough of being serious for one night, _mi alma_.” 

\-- 

“We’ve got a call,” Ray informed you. You grabbed your notebook and bag, slinging the strap over the shoulder.   
  
“What’s goin’ on?” You asked, glancing behind to make sure Gene was following behind (and he was, combing his hair as he went, as if he wouldn’t have time in the van).   
  
“Big player of Escobar’s is dead. One of the old Search Bloc members called it in.”   
  
You frowned as Ray stabbed the elevator button impatiently.   
  
“Who?”   
  
“Gustavo Gaviria.”   
  
\-- 

“What happened?”   
  
You heard Horacio sigh quietly on the other end, and you gnawed at your lip before tacking on, “Are you alright?”   
  
**“ _Estoy bien, mi alma._ ”   
  
He’d been calling you that more often, and you weren’t sure why. You weren’t complaining, of course, and right now, you had other things to worry about. Escobar was going to want retribution for his cousin’s death, you were sure. You had a suspicion that Horacio had a hand in it, too. Trujillo had been the one to report the incident, but you understood how this worked.   
  
“Horacio--”   
  
“ _Lo prometo_ \--”   
  
“I want to see you.”   
  
“Not tonight. It’s not safe.”  
  
“I don’t _care_.”   
  
“I do!” Horacio argued. You closed your eyes and groaned, bracing your hand on the wall beside your phone. You could feel tears prickling behind your eyes, the hand against the wall curling into a fist. You would normally fight back, you were sure Horacio was waiting for it, but--   
  
But there had been a meeting when you’d returned to the office, after reporting on Gustavo’s death. Your boss was recalling the team to the States. With Escobar’s prison nearly completed, your station was certain things would quiet. You knew that they were wrong, and had tried to convince them as such, but they were determined to pull the entire team back. You could put in for a transfer down at _Cadena Uno_ , but you were sure they wouldn’t hire you. You hadn’t exactly formed strong connections with the team that was down there.   
  
“...What is it?” Horacio’s question was softer, betraying his tone from moments before. You clenched your jaw, turning the receiver and taking in a deep breath to keep him from hearing your shaky inhale.   
  
“Nothing,” You fibbed when you’d gathered yourself and turned the receiver back, “I just--...I want to be near you-- _Fuck_.”   
  
“I know,” Horacio murmured, “Tomorrow.”   
  
“...Alright. Rest.”  
  
“Yes, _mi alma_.”   
  
“I love you.”   
  
“And I, you. Very much.”   
  
You squeezed your eyes shut, mumbled out one more goodbye and waited for Horacio to do the same before hanging up. 

\-- 

Karina took the news numbly at first. She looked down at her hands where they were folded on the table. Horacio reached out, resting a hand on his sister’s wrist.   
  
“So far,” Karina managed after a moment.   
  
“I know.”   
  
“ _Mamá_ will be… Displeased.”   
  
Horacio was sure Karina had held back a harsher word. She knew that this wasn’t his choice.   
  
“I will call her every day. And you, and Matías. Trujillo will still be here. If you need anything you can call him--”   
  
“You’re not leaving this moment, _Horacito_ ,” Karina laughed shakily, and Horacio went quiet, giving Karina’s wrist a soft, apologetic squeeze. She sighed quietly, scrubbing her hand across her forehead.   
  
“How did _Patito_ take this news?” She asked, if only to steer the conversation from herself. But the flash of guilt that crossed Horacio’s face made her realize that this was a conversation that needed to be had.   
  
“You haven’t told her?”   
  
“I haven’t had the chance,” Was Horacio’s answer, muttered like a child telling his teacher that he’d left his homework on his kitchen table. Karina shook her head, eyes widening.   
  
***“ _Qué lío_ ,” She muttered. Horacio grunted in turn. 

“Would you bring her with you?” Karina pressed.   
  
“I don’t know if she would go.”   
  
Karina nodded, “That does seem the sort of thing you could only learn by speaking with her.”   
  
Horacio cast his sister a dark look, but she simply grinned.   
  
“Well, regardless of what you two choose, be careful how you tell _Mamá_. She’ll have a conniption if the two of you are living in sin.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Prométeme?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone’s having a good week! 💖  
> I would like to welcome y’all to the final chapter of Dany Started Thirsting After This Man’s Arms By Accident
> 
> But seriously, thank you to everyone that has read, liked, and commented. I really appreciate all of your support, and I want to thank you for sticking with me through this story. 🥰
> 
> Warnings: Cursing

“I’m being transferred.” 

“...Where to?”

“Back home,” You kept your eyes carefully set on the ceiling as you told him so. You’d meant to tell him earlier that night, but something had always stopped you - dinner, or his kisses, or your own fear. 

Horacio pushed himself up from where he was settled down in bed, and you followed suit, feeling your worry roiling about in your stomach as you sat up, leaning back against his headboard.   
  
“With Escobar behind...Behind some bars, or being held accountable in some way, you know,” You shook your head, turning your head to look out of the window, “They want to turn the focus on the cocaine that’s being trafficked in the States.”   
  
Horacio was quiet for a few moments before he reached out, taking hold of your hands.   
  
“I’m being sent to Madrid.”   
  
You turned back to Horacio, eyes widening.   
  
“Madrid?”   
  
“Now that Escobar is in his-- his _playground_...My superiors say I play too rough,” He shook his head, “for the sake of the image of the force -- and with the Search Bloc gone…” He trailed off, and you intertwined your fingers, raising his hands and pressing kisses to the back of his hands.   
  
“I’m sorry, my love,” You offered. Horacio nodded a little, lifting his head to look at you.   
  
“...I can’t ask you to go with me, but--”   
  
“But?”   
  
“I just mean that I wouldn’t expect you to.”   
  
You tipped your head to the side, watching Horacio for a few moments.   
  
“Would you want me to?” You ventured, feeling your heartbeat tick up in your chest. Horacio lifted one of his hands from yours, cupping your cheek.   
  
“I know that I’ve been stubborn in the past, and wary of your safety, but… I do not want to be apart from you, _cariño_.”   
  
You lowered your eyes, turning your head and pressing a kiss to his palm.   
  
“I don’t want to be apart from you, either,” You murmured, taking hold of Horacio’s hand in both of yours, “And my station has got an office in Madrid. I could put in for a transfer?”   
  
Horacio’s eyes widened slightly, lips parting in surprise.  
  
“Would you want to-- I know it would be a change--”   
  
“Well, going back home after all of this would be different, too, after Escobar and his-- what’d you call it? His ‘playground’?”   
  
“He has a _soccer field_ \--”   
  
“Don’t, my love, you’ll just upset yourself,” You laughed a little. You watched as Horacio rose to his knees, shifting closer to you.   
  
“You would, then?” Come with me?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“To Madrid?”   
  
“Yes,” You nodded, “If you want me to.”   
  
Horacio looped an arm around your waist, drawing you up against him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing close to him as he leaned in for a warm kiss. You slipped a hand up into his hair, sighing softly and smoothing your thumb over the nape of his neck gently.   
  
“Nothing would make me happier, _cariño_ ,” He murmured against your lips. You slid your hands over the sides of his neck as he rested his forehead against yours.   
  
“My mother will be...Horrified if I take you with me and we are not...Properly situated,” Horacio said softly, meeting your eye. Your brow furrowed.   
  
“Situated?” You repeated, watching him lean across to his bedside table, “Do you mean living together?”   
  
“Among other things,” He said lightly, settling back down in front of you. You frowned as he peered up at you from under his lashes.   
  
“What do you mean?” You shook your head in confusion.   
  
“Would you--” He started over you, producing a small ring box from behind his back. You felt your stomach swoop, your hand coming up to cover your mouth in shock.   
  
“I-- Oh,” You mumbled, “ _Horacio_.”   
  
“ _Te casarías conmigo_?” He murmured. 

You nodded quickly, unable to make the words come out, and a smile bloomed on Horacio’s face. He took the ring out of the box, taking hold of your trembling hand and slipping the ring onto your finger. You looked down at the ring for a few moments, stunned, before you tackled Horacio back onto the bed. He laughed as he fell back with you, wrapping his arms tight around you.   
  
You buried your face in Horacio’s neck, dropping kisses everywhere you could reach. Horacio tipped your head back, drawing you up for a few sweet, soft pecks.   
  
“ _Te quiero, patito_ ,” He murmured. You chuckled, nudging your nose against Horacio’s.   
  
“I love you, too, Horacio,” You settled your left hand over his heart, eyeing the ring on your hand.  
  
He nodded, smoothing his hand over your back and murmuring, “Madrid?”   
  
“Madrid,” You nodded a little before you tipped your head up to look at him, “Or anywhere else you go.”   
  
He smiled, raising his hand and tracing his finger along your cheekbone.   
  
_“Prométeme?”_

_“Lo prometo, mi amor.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Te casarías conmigo - Will you marry me?   
> (would'a stuck it up top but it would've ~~spoiled it~~)


End file.
